Portrait of A Nightmare
by NancyBG-OldMaidWhovian
Summary: Amy has a run-in with a stranger, and ends up entangling the Doctor and Rory in a search for a mysterious serial killer.
1. Chapter 1

Portrait of a Nightmare

Chapter 1

Wheezing like an asthmatic smoker climbing a steep hill, the TARDIS landed in the corner of a car park with a final-sounding thump. The door creaked open, and out bounded a wildly grinning Doctor. He was dressed in black tie and tails, with a top hat incongruously perched upon his tousled hair.

Amy followed, smiling brightly. She was wearing a very short black denim skirt and maroon top, with a black cashmere scarf wound around her neck. This ensemble was set off by a pair of shiny black cowgirl boots. Rory was even more casually garbed. He'd settled for retro tee shirt under a denim jacket, jeans and trainers.

Turning to look at his companions, the Doctor frowned at Rory. "You're wearing _that_?"

"I thought you said we were going for fish and chips?" Rory shrugged, uncertain what the Doctor's issue with his kit, was. "What..._should_ I be wearing, then? And you'd better not say fisherman's gear."

"Couldn't agree with you more, Rory." Amy agreed, patting him on the arm. "You'd look rubbish in yellow overalls."

"Would not!" Rory began to protest. Then, thinking about it, he nodded his head. "Yeah, I would."

"I'm taking you to meet an old mate of mine." The Doctor informed them, rubbing his hands in anticipation. "Nice chap. Used to be with U.N.I.T. Traded in his guns for a set of kitchen knives. Well, not literally...though I suppose he could have. He's employed at a restaurant called J. Sheekey's_. _I'm told famous people eat there. Very posh. In fact, they were awarded an unprecedented ten Michelin stars in the year 2760. Or rather, they will be. Though, maybe you'd better not tell them that. We have a reservation for 13:00 this afternoon."

"Sheekey's?" A delighted Amy was almost jumping up and down with excitement. "I've always wanted to go there. But it's almost impossible to get reservations. How'd you manage to pull it off, Doctor?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. Called in a few favours. Let's face it. If it hadn't been for me, those killer alien cockroaches would've shut all the restaurants in London." He sniffed. "Pfft. '_Men in Black' _indeed. The restaurant owners pledged me their undying gratitude. Well, they would. Who'd want to go out to dinner, only to end up as the main course? I've got guaranteed reservations at every restaurant in the city of London. Aways the best table in the house." He again gave Rory a frown. "So I want you to look your best today. _Rory_."

"What about her?" Rory whinged, indicating his wife with a nod of his head. "She's not exactly wearing a posh frock, is she?" Becoming suddenly aware of Amy's miffed look, Rory amended, "Not that you don't look...nice, Amy."

It was too late. Amy hauled off and shoved an elbow into Rory's ribs. He saw the Doctor wince sympathetically. Yet, at the same time, he seemed to be almost enjoying watching Rory's discomfort.

"Erm—I mean, pretty, Amy. A little help here, Doctor, would be nice."

"Sorry, Rory. You're on your own. I don't do any of that human _domestic _stuff."

When he saw the cross look hadn't left his wife's face, Rory really began to get nervous. Struggling manfully, he tried to find just the right words. And was not quite getting there.

"No really. You look er...really lovely in that outfit, Amy. I'd say even very...sexy? Right." He decided, suddenly. "I'll just go and change, shall I?"

Rory bolted for the TARDIS door, before Amy had a chance to do anything more to him. A short time only had passed, before Rory emerged again. This time clad in a dark blue shirt under a black jacket. This was set off by a newer looking pair of indigo jeans and black shoes. He'd also taken the time to shave and comb back his hair.

"Well, Amy?" He asked, emerging from the TARDIS. "How do I look?" Rory didn't trust the Doctor's opinion as to his attire. An alien who dressed like that? Well, like _he'd_ know about fashion? "I even put on that aftershave you bought me for Christmas, Amy. The one you say makes me smell, you know. Manly." He said, with a slight blush coming to his cheeks.

"'_Gymkhana' _by Bob Wren_._" The Doctor said, nodding. "I got a snootful of it through the TARDIS door. I'd thought for a second that there was a gas leak somewhere. Glad it's just your stinky aftershave. And a good thing it is, too." He tapped the side of his nose with his finger. "Now I don't have to worry about not being able to find you if we get separated. I'll be able to smell you a mile away."

"Cheers, Doctor." Rory said, rolling his eyes at Amy.

Trying to hide her laughter—unsuccessfully, Amy took Rory by the hand. "Come on, stinky. Let's do lunch."

"Not just yet, you two. I have a surprise."

"It's not anything that will involve getting my best jacket dirty, is it?" Rory sighed.

"Well, depends on where you're sitting, I suppose. Or standing. Or walking." The Doctor shrugged and put up his hands in denial. "Look, Rory, I claim no responsibility for wear, tear or stainage. Read the fine print. At least, you could read the fine print, if I had any fine print for you to read. Maybe I should start thinking about drawing up a companion's contract. Save me from listening to an awful lot of whinging..."

"Doctor..." Rory said softly.

"Oh, go ahead and spoil the surprise. Rory the Spoiler, that's what they should call you. In fact, I think I will start calling you that. I bet you used to know what all your birthday presents were. Before your birthday. Well, Time Lords always did. Planning a surprise do on my planet, was like trying to teach a Dalek to dance. Not completely impossible, but highly unlikely."

"Doctor..."

"Alright, alright, Rory the Spoiler! Just take the fun out of everything, why don't you? I've hired a limo to take us to the restaurant. With champagne and chocolates. Think of it as another honeymoon...only one without an out of control spaceship." The Doctor drew out this last bit, as if he only just realized he shouldn't have reminded them of it.

"Anyway!" He clapped his hands together. "It's waiting just past the alley entrance. Come on! You know what they say! Time, tide and great big black stretch limousines wait for no man."

Striding off with Amy and Rory trailing behind him, the Doctor stopped short at when he reached the mouth of the alley. The two of them nearly ran into him.

'Oh. Right. Er...do limos have much horsepower, Amy and Rory? Because this one seems to. What's more, it appears to be a convertible, as well."

Standing there on the kerb, was a shiny black horse drawn carriage, of a type known as a brougham. It had green-painted wheels and green leather upholstery. A top-hatted, leather-gloved driver in forest green livery was sat holding the reins of a matched pair of sturdy black horses. In the back stood a footman. This man was kitted out in a similar fashion as the driver, only wearing white cotton gloves and a black velvet riding cap.

Up and down the road of posh row houses, iron shod hooves clopped their tattoos on the cobblestones. Carriages, delivery drays, hansom cabs and riders on horses—the men sitting astride, the ladies sidesaddle. All of them casually shared the road, as if this were a perfectly ordinary thing to do. Sometimes the occasional wood-sided lorry or old-fashioned motor car chugged past, hooting its horn. Everyone was dressed in Edwardian period clothing.

"Must be the BBC is filming a period drama or something." Rory suggested.

"Ooh, maybe we can get in as extras." The Doctor grinned at the idea. "Like I did in that Laurel and Hardy picture. And that very odd health and safety film for the American army, about something called V—

"Yeah. But where are the cameras and crew? I think maybe the TARDIS got things a wee bit wrong. Again. _Doctor._" Came Amy's sarcastic reply.

"It's still London, though, Amy." The Doctor said smugly. "That advert on the horse-drawn omnibus which just passed us. It's for a London hotel."

"How do you know that hotel's in London, Doctor?" Rory scratched his head. "It could be anywhere."

"None of your corporate clones back then, Rory. Or should I say right now? One hotel, one name. So, it's not so much a matter of where we are, as when."

"You made reservations at a restaurant that doesn't even exist yet?"

"Whoops." Was all the Doctor said.

"But, I'm famished." Rory complained.

"I've an idea. Let's go window shopping. I'm sure we'll pass a nice tea room somewhere on the way. Tea and cake. Lovely. What'dya say?"

"Do we have a choice?" Rory sighed.

"Oh come on, Rory." Amy encouraged him.

"Wait a minute, Amy." The Doctor's voice stopped her.

"What is it, Doctor?"

"You'll have to change, too. Can't have you running around Edwardian London dressed like that. You might get arrested."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that. Then you'd better come along and change as well, Doctor."

"Me? Why me? " A puzzled Doctor asked.

"Because that penguin suit you're wearing might scare the horses." She smirked.

"No it wouldn't. Tuxedos are cool. Horses dig cool. Why do you think so many of them like jazz?"

"You both go and change. I'm going to talk with the driver of that carriage. See if I can find out what today's date is." Rory suggested.

"Good man, Rory Pond." The Doctor patted him on the shoulder and went off with Amy.

As he walked out on to the street, Rory glanced down at a discarded newspaper lying in the alley. The headlines read '_Ransome Hotel Killer Strikes Again. Fifth Murder Last Night. Police Clueless._'


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The driver of the shiny black carriage exchanged startled glances with the footman, as the Doctor held open the door for Amy. She had changed into a beautiful sea-foam green and pearl accent gown, and had done up her hair in a fashion she remembered seeing in old photographs from this era. The Doctor had changed into his new, slightly longer coat. Underneath, his braces were visible, complimented on this day, by a TARDIS blue bow tie.

He was about to hand Amy up into the carriage, when the footman scurried over, scowling his disapproval. The open-mouthed driver twisted round, to see what was happening.

"'Ere, now! What do you think you're doing, sir? You can't do that!" The footman blustered, trying to block the Doctor from getting into the vehicle.

"I _can't_? Did you say I _can't_?" The Doctor seemed momentarily taken aback. "I'm not sure I'm familiar with that word."

"Please step away from the vehicle." The footman stiffly demanded.

At hearing that last sentence, Rory turned to Amy with a bemused expression. She raised an eyebrow at him. Unable to stop themselves, they both let out snorts of laughter. Standing on the kerb near the carriage, a street vendor selling carrots and cabbage out of a handcart looked on. He scratched his head, wondering what the young lady and gent found so amusing. Still, he reflected, lighting a pipe. They were putting on a right good show.

"This is a private carriage, sir." The footman explained, slowly pronouncing his words. He reckoned this bloke was either an idiot, or one of them foreigners. Same thing, really.

"Oh. I see. You're not for hire, then?" The Doctor asked mildly.

"Are you daft? This hain't no cab, sir!" The footman replied, jerking his thumb at the carriage.

"No, no. I can see that. Of course it isn't." The Doctor nodded sagely. Then an idea came to him. He whipped out the wallet holding his psychic paper.

"I'll ask you to move along now, sir. I'm sure you and your friends will find that it's a fine day for a walk." The footman persisted.

"Hold your horses! And I mean that both literally and metaphorically." He flashed the open wallet at the footman and the driver. "See? I have permission to use this fine carriage. I'm a famous American scientist, here on important business for the British government." He nodded towards Amy and Rory. "This is my valet and my niece."

"I find that hard to believe, sir." The footman snorted. "I'll just have a proper look at that, shall?"

The footman snatched the wallet from the Doctor. He stared at what was really a blank piece of paper, frowning. He handed it up to the driver, who read the paper and scowled. He passed the wallet back to the footman and once again turned his attention to holding the horses. With a look of chagrin, the footman stepped aside and opened the door for the Doctor.

"I do beg your pardon, Doctor Smith." The footman said, bowing and scraping now. "I'm afraid no one mentioned anything of this to us. I meant no disrespect to you, of course. I hope you won't tell His Lordship about this."

"No, of course not. It's too nice a day for you to lose your job." The Doctor said, giving the footman his most benevolent smile. "Let's say no more about it. If you'll just allow us to be on our way...?"

"Isn't this a bit like carriage-jacking, Doctor?" Amy hissed. "What if 'His Lordship' finds out?"

"No worries, Amy. It'll be fine. Just sit back and enjoy the ride." He told her smugly.

"Your valet?" Rory whispered. "Why couldn't I be your nephew?"

"Don't be silly, Rory. That would be too...weird." The Doctor whispered back.

They were sitting facing forward. The Doctor was sat across from them, with his back to the driver. Everywhere Amy and Rory looked, were the sights and sounds of post-Victorian London. Amy put her arm around Rory as her eyes took in every detail.

"Sometimes traveling with the Doctor feels so surreal, Rory." She murmured to him. "Take today, for instance. I feel like I've landed in the middle of one of those old novels they make for television."

"'_Lark Rise to Candleford'_." He grinned. "Hope I'm the rich, handsome bloke."

"Meh, I see you more as the cute, sweet farm boy." She smiled back, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Forget the drama. It's more like a soap opera," The Doctor interrupted, making a face and rolling his eyes. "Why don't you to go and get a room somewhere? Preferably in another century, where I won't have to watch. Now I remember why I kicked you out of the TARDIS on your honeymoo...Oh. Did I just say kicked out? I meant to say, asked..."

"Never mind, Doctor. We'll stop, now." Amy giggled, detaching her arm from Rory.

The driver had been duly instructed to take them to the nearest shopping district. On the way there, Amy found herself caught between embarrassment and laughter. When the carriage had paused to let a beer wagon go by, The Doctor stood up on the seat. He then proceeded to wave cheerful hello's to some people passing by. Whom just happened to be seated on the open top deck of a horse-drawn omnibus. They, in turn, gaped at the Doctor. No one said a word in reply. Perhaps in the belief that it was dangerous to speak to a madman.

Rory had the forethought to wrap his arms around the Doctor's legs, to keep him from falling over. The carriage's driver cast a wary glance back the footman. The footman shrugged at the driver. He'd heard all about how eccentric these new-fangled scientists could be. Best to stick to the business at hand, and let gentry do as they please.

"It's thirtieth of June 1909, Doctor." Rory said in a low voice, when the Doctor finally sat down. "Why did the TARDIS bring us here?"

"I don't know, Rory. But I'm sure I'll find out, soon. In the meantime," he beamed at his companions, "I thought we might as well enjoy a little outing while we're at it. Mix business with pleasure, so to speak. You know what they say: all work and no play, makes the Doctor...seem like a _grownup." _He winced. "_Ew_. I wonder if there are any good toy shops around here?"

The three of them disembarked in a district of upscale shops and department stores. After stopping off at a tea room for a light lunch, they strolled along gazing at the bustling streets and the many window displays. Suddenly, the Doctor paused. Whirling around, he arbitrarily grabbed a newspaper from a startled newsboy. Quickly apologizing to the child, Rory paused to read the headlines over the Doctor's shoulder.

"A serial killer. In 1909 London? That's not right. That in fact, is very, very wrong." The Doctor said to himself.

"It happens, Doctor." Rory shrugged. "Isn't that long since they had to deal with Jack the Ripper."

"Rory." The Doctor said, facing him. His eyes glittered with a mixture of anger and excitement."I know the whole history of your planet. I know what is to be, and what was never to be. And _this_" he jabbed his finger at the news story on the page, "_this_ never happened. Someone here is deliberately altering history."

Amy hadn't noticed that she'd become separated from her two 'boys'. She was stood well apart from them. Standing before the window display of a big department store. A sign proclaimed that these were the most recent ladies fashions from Paris. Just as Amy was turning away, a man walked straight into her. He ran into her with such force, that she fell down to the pavement. The man then walked right over Amy, as if she wasn't there.

"What the? I thought the men in this centru...I mean, in this part of London, had better manners than that!" She grumbled, trying to untangle her skirts from her legs. "The least you could do is help me up."

In response, Amy heard the man give an animal-like snarl from deep in his throat. Startled, she looked up at his face. It was a face she'd never forget, as long as she lived.

The man was tall and thin. He wore a black suit, ruffled white shirt and a silk top hat. His skin was sallow, his face almost cadaverous. Thin lips and a long, pointed nose made up a large portion of that face. However, it was his eyes which made Amy suddenly shiver with fear. They burned with a deep-seated madness. Eyes which were fathomless black pools of pure, unmitigated evil.

Amy tried to fight her unreasoning fear. The bile which rose, unbidden, in her throat. Yet, she couldn't. And a thought suddenly rushed into her head. This was what it must be like, looking into the eyes of a cobra before it struck you.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

While Amy had drifted off, the Doctor was intently perusing the news of the day. There were several articles about the recent murders. Pieces of newspaper were strewn about the floor, as the Doctor discarded pages. Rory keep reading over the Doctor's shoulder. He was curious as to why the Doctor thought these serial killings couldn't have ever happened.

Meanwhile, the newsboy was tugging on the Doctor's coat. He was anxious to get his two pence. The Doctor absently reached into a pocket. Trouble was, it wasn't the pocket with the money he'd gotten from the TARDIS. Instead, he gave the boy a yo-yo, telling him to keep the change. The boy was not amused. If anything, his complaints got even louder. Rory finally managed to placate the lad, by showing him a few yo-yo tricks.

What really got the Doctor to sit up and take notice, however, was one small article on the last page. It was a brief mention of a missing girl. A young woman named Maisie Wright was employed as a barmaid at a pub in the West End. She'd shown up for work as usual, on the previous Saturday. But then, she hadn't been seen again. Her purse and other belongings were still where she'd left them.

The Doctor read on. The article reported that police had no leads as to the whereabouts of the missing girl. They were seeking help from the public. Anyone with any information was to contact the police or the newspaper. The last line of the article quoted a Police Inspector named Welland Sloan. He stated that there was no indication that this case, was in any way related to any other disappearances in that part of the city.

"Amy! Come and look at this." The Doctor called from behind his newspaper.

Out of reflex, Amy turned her head at the sound of the Doctor's voice. She glared at Rory. Apparently, he still hadn't noticed her sitting on the pavement in front of the shop window. Amy transferred her glare back to the evil-looking man who'd knocked her down. However, he was gone. He had brusquely walked right over her, as if nothing untoward had happened. Amy caught a glimpse of his coat tails as he hurriedly turned the next corner.

That's when Rory finally noticed that something was amiss. He ran over to her. "Amy! Are you alright? What happened?" He asked guiltily, as he helped her up.

"What are you doing down there?" The Doctor frowned at her, dropping the newspaper and walking over to them. He suddenly seemed too preoccupied to be overly concerned with her, plight. His eyes shown with a bright eagerness, as he said, "Come along, Pond. This is no time for sitting down on the job. The game's in play! We've work to do."

"I'm fine, Rory." Amy nodded, brushing herself off. "What's the Doctor on about, now?"

"Something about serial murders and a missing girl, I gather. You know him." He shrugged.

"Yeah. Sometimes it's like traveling with a hyperactive child." She agreed.

"I heard that!" The Doctor shot at her over his shoulder. "Honestly, Amy. What's the point of being grown up, if I can't act childish sometimes?"

They went on down the road, passing shops and restaurants. Twenty minutes, and several turns later, they came upon a less affluent section of London. The posh shops dwindled to more practical businesses. Amy cast curious glances at the windows of a harness maker, a hardware store, a greengrocer, and a pawn shop. It was something in the window of the pawn shop, which made her stop cold.

"It's him!" She was pulling on Rory's arm, and pointing at the window. "That's the man who knocked me down!"

"Was he wearing fancy dress?" Rory asked quizzically, looking at the object which caught Amy's interest.

In the window of the pawn shop was a large, ornately framed oil painting. A sinister looking man was dressed in dark coloured 16th century clothing. In the portrait, he wore a red plumed, wide-brimmed black hat, and was standing erect, with a gleaming rapier in his hand. Staring at the man's face, Rory suddenly had to repress a shudder. It was the eyes. The painter must have been very good, he thought. That's because when he looked closely at the portrait, it felt like the eyes were alive, gleaming with malevolence.

Rory bent down to examine a small brass plate, which had been screwed into the bottom of the frame. "It says here, _Sir James Masters. 1548_. Couldn't have been your rude bloke, Amy."

"It is _him_, Rory." Amy asserted. "I know it sounds daft, but I swear to you, that's the same man. It has to be. I'm going in there. Maybe the shop owner can tell me something about that painting."

Before Rory could stop her, Amy plunged into the shop. He heard the bell on the door jangle, just before the door slammed shut behind her. He was about to follow, when a hand clamped him squarely on the shoulder. Startled, Rory jumped.

"Relax, it's only me. Is everything alright, Rory?" The Doctor asked, sensing a change of mood.

However, just at that moment, he saw the portrait in the window. "What! No way! It can't be. But, it is. It's _him_! How could it be him?" The Doctor rattled off, his hands pressed against the window. He was eyeball to eyeball with the painting. "Something tells me there's more going on here than meets the eye. Pun intended, Rory."

"Amy swears that's the bloke who ran her down on the street." Rory told him. He glanced at the Doctor with an odd expression. "You mean, you've seen him before?"

"Oh no! Tell me she didn't...where'd she go, Rory? Where's Amy?" The Doctor shouted in a panic, whirling around and looking about for her.

Rory was surprised to see something almost akin to fear in his eyes. He stammered, confused as to the Doctor's sudden anxiety.

"Am-Amy's fine, Doctor. She's just nipped into the shop. She was going to inquire about the man in the portrait. "Why? What's going—"

That's when they both heard Amy give a startled, shrill cry of fear. The sound came from somewhere inside the shop. As one, the Doctor and Rory tore open the door and bolted inside. The gray haired shop keeper tried to stop them, querulously shouting protests. Another scream from Amy came from the rear of the premises. They forcefully pushed their way past the elderly man, and burst into a store room.

The Doctor and Rory arrived at the open back door, just in time to see two burly men shoving Amy into the back of a delivery van. One of the men banged the door shut, and shot the bolt home. Then, they ran forward. Scrambling onto the seat of the wagon, one of them cracked a whip. The sturdy bay horse immediately broke into a rapid trot down the narrow alleyway. Another crack of the whip had it breaking into a swift canter. It's iron-shod hooves sent up sparks from the cobblestones.

"Amy!" Rory shouted, as he and the Doctor ran after the wagon.

There was the sound of a police whistle close by. A booming male voice gave a sharp command to stop. What Rory and the Doctor didn't realize at first, was that the order was meant for them. It wasn't until a policeman stepped in front of them, from out of an adjacent alley, that they realized it.

"You can run lads, but I can always call up more officers. So why don't you give yourselves up now, and save us all the fuss and bother." A red-faced, portly, helmeted policeman asked them. He was carrying a truncheon, slapping his palm with it.

"What? No! You don't understand, officer. My wife's..." Rory tried to explain.

"Waiting dinner for you at home with the kiddies? I've heard that one before, mate. Won't work on me." The policeman said smugly, rocking on his heels.

"Look, he's trying to tell you that his wife's just been kidnapped. Out of that shop, back there." The Doctor indicated the direction they'd just run from, by pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "So if you don't mind, we'd like to get on with rescuing her."

"Well I must say sir, that's new to me. Very creative. I'll give you nine marks out of ten for that one. However, I'm afraid your fictitious damsel in distress will have to wait. I'm placing both under arrest."

"Arrest? What for?' Rory gasped in dismay.

"I believe the charge is taking property that rightly belongs to Lord Dunsmore." The constable told them.

"Not_ the_ Lord Dunsmore?" The Doctor asked, seemingly taken aback.

"The very same, sir." The constable replied.

"Never heard of him." The Doctor sniffed.

"What!" The policeman exclaimed. "Never 'eard of 'im? Where you been livin' then? Timbuctooland?"

"Not recently, but I do travel a lot." The Doctor shrugged. "Why? Is he someone important?"

"Yes, sir. You might say that." The constable pulled himself upright, full of self-importance. "Has ties to the royal family, he does. A true hero of the Boer War. Serves in the House of Lords, best mates with Disraeli himself. Helped to draft a lot of those so-called 'social reforms' a while back . He's the fella' them in the know says might be our next prime minister." He shook his head in disgust. "And 'ere you lot had to go and nick his personal transport." He clicked his tongue. "_Tsk-tsk-tsk. _ That sort of think just 'hain't cricket, me lads."

"Did you just '_tsk_' us?" Rory asked, looking squint-eyed at the man. "I don't think anyone's ever actually done that to me, before."

"Quiet, Rory. Now look officer, I can explain everything..." The Doctor began.

"No, you look, sir. Besides the two coachmen, we have a third witness. You were seen stealing Lord Dunsmore's carriage. In broad daylight. That's a very serious charge, you know. Now, are you two coming along quietly, or shall I have to call for reinforcements?" The policeman put the whistle in his mouth. Next, he pulled out two pairs of handcuffs. He held them up to show the Doctor that he meant what he said.

"Oh, that's great. We're being nabbed for grand theft carriage. While Amy's being kidnapped. Nice going, Doctor." Rory muttered bitterly.

The Doctor visibly winced. His eyes seemed suddenly old. "I know, I know. I'm so sorry, Rory." He chided himself softly. "Amy's in terrible danger, and it's all my fault."

For the first time in a very long while, Rory felt genuinely angry with the Doctor. He had to go and purloin some stupid carriage, just for a lark. Now, Amy was being taken to some unknown location, for purposes he didn't even want to guess at. In a London which existed a hundred years before her own time. And, here he was, unable to do a damn thing about it. Amy desperately needed him. Uunfortunately, he was busy being taken away to the nearest gaol. Rory wondered out loud if he should allow his wife to travel in the TARDIS any longer.

The Doctor shot him a wounded look. For once though, he had nothing to say. Sighing with resignation, the Doctor watched the policeman click the handcuffs over his wrists.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Meekly walking beside the policeman, The Doctor and Rory allowed themselves to be lead through alleys and streets. Rory openly chafed at the delay in rescuing his wife.

"We'll get Amy back. I promise." The Doctor said encouragingly.

"How are we going to find her, Doctor?" Rory grumbled. "We don't know who her kidnappers are, or even what part of the city they've taken her to. She could be anywhere, by now."

"Nothing's impossible, Rory." .

"Can you stick your tongue up your nose, Doctor?" Rory challenged him.

"Erm—" The Doctor gave it a try. "No. OK, so some things _are_ impossible. But, not this. You'll have to trust me, Rory." He said in a low, determined voice. "We will find her."

"I am trusting you Doctor." Rory answered him softly. "With Amy's life."

Amy winced, as her body was continually slammed against on the hard wooden floor of the van. Sitting upright, with her back against the side of the vehicle, she tried loosening her bonds. Unfortunately, they were far too tight. One of her kidnappers had evidentially earned himself a Boy Scout merit badge in knot tying.

"Sorry boys." She muttered "Can't get free. Looks like you're going to have to come to my rescue, after all."

As the delivery van careened through the streets, Amy silently cursed. She swore she could feel every single new bruise forming on her backsides. The van was pitch black inside Not even a sliver of light came through the crack in the door. Her stomach began to get queasy, as the wagon swayed on its springs, jouncing over cobblestones and pot holes in the road.

All of the sudden, the van came to a halt. Amy let out a sigh of relief. However, her feelings were short-lived, as the door to the van was flung open. The van had backed up into what appeared to be a large open sewage grate beside the banks of the Thames. Amy almost gagged up her lunch. She could smell the stench from where she was sitting.

"Oh my god. Tell me you're not gonna' make me go in there." Amy said out loud.

One of her captors, a burly, a bald-headed man in ragged work clothes, held a leather-covered blackjack. Leering at Amy, he eagerly licked his lips, continually hitting the palm of his left hand with the cosh. Amy had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Obviously, this bloke had either seen too many music hall melodramas, or his sexual tastes ran to the kinky stuff.

Amy became aware of her other kidnapper, who was standing to one side. This was a small, wiry man. His weaselly-looking, unshaved face wore a grim expression. He had a pistol trained steadily on Amy's chest. Looking at him, she felt herself give an involuntary shiver. This bloke looked as if he wouldn't lose any sleep over her cold-blooded murder.

However, it was the third person joining the group, who really gave Amy the shivers. It was the man in the portrait. He'd changed into formal clothing, complete with a silk top hat. When he smiled at her, Amy could see the madness in his gaze.

"I should've known it'd be another girl." He sneered. "Like playing with the Doctor, do you? Well, we'll see how you like it when the game gets truly serious." He gestured to his henchmen, "Put her someplace particularly stinky. Maybe she'll be less eager for time travel, after spending some time in the dark slime of a London sewer."

Throwing back his head, the man let out a maniacal laugh. "They'll be no escaping me, this time, Doctor."

Inside the police station, the Doctor and Rory were seated on a hard wooden bench. Rory looked down at their handcuffs. Then glared again at the Doctor. "I don't understand, Doctor." he whispered. "Why didn't you just sonic us out of these things, back there?"

"Because, Rory, it's not that simple. I need to see the whole picture. I'm sure Amy's fine for now. He won't hurt her. Not as long as he knows he can use her to get to me."

"He? Who's he? You know who's taken Amy?" Rory asked out loud, gobsmacked. "I can't believe you didn't tell me! Because, in case you didn't realize this already, that information would be rather important to me, Doctor. And, if you say you're sorry again, I'll...I'll...punch you."

"Oh. OK. Now I know you're being serious, Rory." The Doctor sighed, "Yes, I know who is doing this. But more importantly, I know he's doing something terrible. Something that may effect the entire future of this planet. But, I won't be able to stop him, unless I know what he's planning. Which means," He held up his handcuffed wrist, "getting to the police to find out what's going on with these murders and disappearances."

Just then, a big, weary looking Scottish police sergeant stalked up to them. He jerked his head towards a stairwell leading downwards. "Get up, lads. It's off to the cells with you."

"Eh?" The Doctor asked, startled. "That was rather quick. We'd only just got here. I thought we were going to speak to the detective inspector."

"He's too busy to see the likes of you two. Now, move!" The bristling sergeant ordered.

"But, it's important. A mater of life and death Literally. For everyone on this planet. I need to speak to someone in charge, right away!" The Doctor shouted, as he was hauled bodily to his feet.

"You can speak with the judge." The sergeant said smugly. "In about two weeks."

"Two _weeks_?" Rory gasped.

"Aye. Possibly longer, even." The policeman nodded, as he escorted them into the cells in the basement. Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the barren stairwell. "We'll keep you in the holding cells here, overnight. Ship you out to prison in the morning. The court docket's a bit backed up since Judge Abott took ill. Pity about that. He's the nice one. As fair a man as you'll ever find. Anyhow, I'm sure Judge Stiffwood will see you, as soon as it's your turn in the queue."

Narrowing his gaze, Rory silently glowered at the Doctor, who turned his head away.

"Oh, Amy." The Doctor whispered to himself, "I'm so..." He found that he couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"But, you don't understand, officer." Rory pleaded, as he and the Doctor were marched to the cells. "My wife's just been kidnapped."

"Are you sure you want to be stickin' to that story, lad?" The policeman said, not unkindly. "Take my advice. Judge Hardbrick suffers no fools. Best way to deal with him, is to be straightforward and honest. Admit your mistakes."

"But I am being..."

"Rory, listen to this fine example of modern law enforcement. Admit it. You nicked His Lordship's carriage and went for a little joy ride." The Doctor suggested meaningfully. "Shame on you."

"_I_ stole it?" Rory exclaimed indignantly. What about yo—Oomf." A jab in the ribs, and a serious glance from the Doctor, made Rory change his sentence. "Ohhh. Right. Yeah. The old carriage...jacking...thing. Gotta' stop doing that. Sorry. Won't happen again, sir." He said humbly to the policeman, albeit through gritted teeth.

"Admitting your mistakes is the first step to living a good Christian life, son." The police sergeant pontificated. "Not repeating them, makes you wise, as well as good."

"Er—OK. Thanks for letting me know that." Rory nodded.

Once they were locked in a cell, Rory rounded on the Doctor. "Don't do that again!"

"Do what? You're not making any sense, Rory." The Doctor replied innocently, slipping out his sonic screwdriver and making a few adjustments.

"I'll take a jab from Amy, now and again. Even a slap—though you'd better not tell her that. However, I do draw the line at _you_ doing it to me, as well, Doctor." Rory said evenly, trying, once again, to rein in his temper.

"Sorry, Rory. But I needed to distract the sergeant's attention away from me for a moment."

"What for?" Rory asked, baffled.

"So I could borrow these." The Doctor said, holding up the policeman's badge and an old-fashioned pair of handcuffs. He flashed Rory a smile. "Might come in handy while we're escaping."

Using the sonic screwdriver at its quietest setting, the Doctor managed to open the door. He and Rory were handcuffed together, as they strode past the cells.

"Why do I have to be the criminal?" Rory asked in a whisper.

"Because you _are_ a criminal." The Doctor turned his head, as if surprised by the question, and answered, "You've just confessed to carriage-napping. I heard you. Bad, bad, Rory."

Rory opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, shaking his head. There was no point in arguing with the Doctor. He _had_ just admitted to...Rory frowned, suddenly disgusted with himself. He'djust confessed to the Doctor's own crime, in front of a policeman. How did the man manage to get people to do that?

The only other exit from the cells in the basement, besides the staircase, was a small, heavy metal door at the other end of the hallway. This door took the Doctor a bit longer to sonic, and Rory shifted his feet impatiently, constantly keeping his eye on the staircase at the opposite end of the hall. Finally though, the big lock on the door clicked. The Doctor gave it a heave, and the metal door swung open on creaking hinges. The sound echoed through the cell area, making Rory wince. He glanced around nervously. But, no one seemed to notice.

The sun was just setting, but the alleyway in which they were standing was cast in deep shadow. There was a police wagon in the alley, but it was deserted. The Doctor eyed it, only to feel Rory grab his arm.

"Don't even think about it, Doctor." Rory admonished.

"Yes, well, I suppose not." The Doctor sighed with disappointment. "After all, you did just promise to reform, Rory. I suppose I'll have to keep you on the straight and narrow."

"OK, Doctor. Joke's getting a bit tired, now." Rory replied through gritted teeth. "How do you propose we find Amy?"

"We'll have to get back to the TARDIS. I can use the genetic aeriform monitor on the console, to track down any trace of her DNA within the city."

"Good." Rory nodded. "Let's get out of here, then..."

"Are you a policeman? A little girl's voice suddenly said, out of the blue.

A startled Doctor whirled around. The last little girl who'd asked him that, was Amy. But this wasn't her. It was an eight year old girl in blond curls, wearing a long, frilly green dress. She stared up at the Doctor with guileless blue eyes.

"Is he your prisoner?" She asked, indicating Rory, with a pointing finger.

"Erm—Yes, yes he is. And I'm..." The Doctor smiled and pulled out the badge. Holding up, he showed it to her, "...Detective Inspector Smith. Scotland Yard."

"That's not your badge. You're not a policeman. You're telling a fib." The little girl said.

The Doctor was taken aback for a moment, but quickly recovered. He pulled out the wallet containing his psychic paper. "I certainly am not! See? I really am a police inspector." He held it up to her.

"Oh. Alright, you can take the bad man away, now. Bye-bye, mister policeman." She smiled and waved at the Doctor, then skipped off down the alleyway, turning the corner.

"OK, that was a bit...weird." Rory said, looking at where she'd gone. "Sweet little girl, though."

"So was Lucretia Borgia, when she was a child." The Doctor frowned at Rory. "She used to bite the feet off my Jelly Babies. At the time, I didn't realize she was..." there was an embarrassed pause, as the Doctor swallowed uncomfortably, "...practicing."

The two of them walked towards the entrance of the alley. "I think the TARDIS is...that way." The Doctor jabbed his thumb towards the east. "Or...is it, that way?" The Doctor said, uncertainly. He'd stopped dead, and stuck his thumb over his shoulder, towards the south.

"Actually, I believe it's this way, Doctor." Rory said, rolling his eyes, turning the Doctor by the shoulders, until he was facing north.

They were also facing a pair of policemen. Standing between to two constables, was a very stern looking, middle aged man. He was wearing a custom-tailored tweed suit, a brown bow tie, and a bowler hat which didn't suit him. His narrow face had a wily look about it. He had keen blue eyes, and was sporting a bushy mustache. The man was grasping the little girl by the hand. The Doctor noted that they were hands more suited to an artist, than a copper. And, no doubt, that was this gentleman's profession.

"That's the men, daddy." The little girl told her father smugly, pointing at the Doctor and Rory.

"Right, you two. You're both under arrest. Again." The man in the tweeds and bowler said to them.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Before the two policemen could grab hold of the Doctor, he did some fancy footwork and somehow got around them. Then his hand flashed into his pocket, bringing out the psychic paper. He held it out to Inspector McLeod.

"Hold on a tick you lot. Have a look at that, before you do anything rash." The Doctor told them.

Abruptly, he paused. "Wait! Tick. Rash. Rash. Tick. Hmmm-," He said to himself. To the policemen, the Doctor explained, "Let me re-phrase that. It's probably a bit confusing. I know you humans do sometimes get easily confused. I didn't mean that you should actually hold a tick. And I know a tick bite can give you a rash. But," he smiled gesturing at the wallet he was holding out to them, "what really I meant to say, is read what's on that card before you arrest us. Erm—again."

One of the helmeted bobbies nudged the other and whispered, "_He's mad, that one._" The other officer grunted his agreement, whispering out of the corner of his mouth, "_As a bloody march hare_." They both shrugged and continued to watch over the prisoners.

"According to this paper, you're with His Majesty's Secret Service on loan to Scotland Yard." Inspector McLeod said, putting on a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and squinting at the paper. He was much shorter than the Doctor, and had to almost stand on tiptoe to read the paper in the Doctor's outstretched hand. The inspector shot Rory a loathsome look. "And according to that card, this young man here is your grass."

"I'm his what now?" Rory objected, "No, there must be some mistake. I'm not a...".

The Doctor shot Rory another cautionary look to shut him up, then beamed a friendly smile at McLeod.

"Right you are.. Bang on. No flies on you, I see." The Doctor straightened his tie, and said importantly, "I'm Secret Agent John Smith. At your service."

McLeod blustered at the Doctor, "Why in thunder didn't you say so in the first place, man?"

"You mean to tell me inspector, that you didn't notice the word '_secret'_ in secret agent?" The Doctor said, with a raised eyebrow. He spun around and pointed both index fingers at the man. "If that's a demonstration of your powers of observation, it's a wonder the whole of London isn't going on one big crime spree."

"Er—Doctor," Rory murmured, "Actually, I don't think that's helping." To Rory's dismay, he was being ignored. It was if the Doctor had completely forgotten he was there.

"But, D'ye not realize the time you've caused us to waste? How many men we've had out hunting a common carriage thief?" McLeod demanded, glaring up at the Doctor.

"Oh, cheers. Now I'm a carriage thief, a grass _and_ common?" An insulted Rory said out loud to himself. "I think I liked it better when I was simply a nurse and Mr. Amy Pond."

One of the policemen looked at the other with a slightly bemused expression. He whispered '_Amy_?' The other policeman smirked and whispered back, "_A nurse_?" They both shrugged again. It took all kinds, these days.

"You mean I've taken up your time, while you could have been looking for the man behind the murders around the Ransome Hotel...not to mention the missing girl from that West End pub?" The Doctor rattled off, walking in circles, talking with his hands. "Possibly a separate crime. But something tells me not."

"Of course that's what I mean!" The little inspector yelled. He stopped himself just short of hitting the Doctor in a fit of temper. He paused and took a deep breath. After wiping off the lenses of his glasses McLeod pocketed them, then gave the Doctor an incredulous stare. "Hold on. What did you just say?"

"You really should try to clean the wax out of your ears a bit more, Inspector." The Doctor suddenly walked up to McLeod and gave the man's left ear a close inspection. "And maybe trim some of the hair in there. Whew! You could feather a sparrow's next with that." The Doctor stepped back several paces. Putting his hands to his mouth to form an impromptu tannoy, he shouted, "I said, that I believe there may be some sort of link between the murders and the missing girl."

Inspector McLeod scowled. However, he decided not to respond to the Doctor's ridicule. "You think the missing girl and the murders are connected? That's quite a leap in logic, Agent Smith."

"Yes, well, I'm very good at leaping. And jumping..." The Doctor jumped up and down to prove this, "...oh, and hopscotch. I'll show you." He patted down his pockets, and was crestfallen to find he didn't have what he was searching for. The Doctor looked questioningly at Inspector McLeod. "You don't happen to have any chalk on you, do you?"

Clearing his throat Inspector McLeod replied tersely, "No. I don't. Sorry. Perhaps we should continue this discussion in my private office, sir.

A short time later found the Doctor and Rory ensconced in chairs in the inspector's office. At first, the police had wanted to put Rory back in the cells. But the Doctor had swiftly interceded on his behalf, claiming that keeping an eye on Rory was his responsibility. However, Inspector McLeod insisted that the two policemen stay on guard outside the door.

The inspector was sat behind his desk. He had an amused smirk on his face and kept his fingers steepled before him. As he looked upon the Doctor, an odd gleam flickered in his eyes. Rory decided the man suddenly looked like a cat sitting in front of a mouse hole. Out of nowhere, he felt cold. Glancing away from McLeod, Rory gave an involuntary shudder. Suddenly, something felt decidedly wrong. He caught the Doctor gazing at him out of the corner of his eye. The Doctor slipped a him a wink. Whatever was going on here Rory decided, it wasn't anything good.

"Now then, Agent Smith" Inspector McLeod said softly, "Perhaps you would like to tell me why you're here. And how you think that missing girl is connected to the murders." He said softly.

Plunking his feet and long legs on the corner of the desk, the Doctor leaned back in his chair. A thin, knowing smile crossed his lips.

Folding his hands across his lap, the Doctor said, "I'd be more interested inspector, in why you're so interested in why I'm so interested."

Inspector McLeod clenched his fists and sat back in his chair, giving the Doctor a baleful glare.

"As you say, I'm interested. So suppose you enlighten me." The frowning inspector replied impatiently.

Smiling, the Doctor said flippantly, "So much interest. If we were a bank we'd make a mint."

Slamming his legs to the floor and standing so abruptly that it startled Rory, the Doctor began pacing up and down in front of the desk.

"OK. OK. You want to know why I'm here. I'm here because something's very, very wrong with this time stream. Something is here that isn't supposed to be. Like that little girl. You see, I like children. As much as I like my nose. Wonderful thing, noses. Smell is one of our greatest senses. Well..." he paused and made a face, "...except maybe when you're using a portaloo at rock festival." The Doctor resumed pacing, "Thing is, I have a great sense of smell, me. For instance, I can smell clone from a hundred yards away. And that little girl in the alley, your daughter, she positively stank of clone." He stopped suddenly before the desk, slapped his palms down on it and leaned towards McLeod. "So why don't you start by telling me who you _really_ are?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Very well, Agent Smith." The bemused Scotsman said, giving the Doctor a sly smile. "I shall reveal to you exactly who I am. After all, what could you do to me?"

"Oooh, is it time for the show?" The Doctor clapped eagerly. "If I'd known that, I'd of nipped out for a choc-ice and some popcorn."

Rory's jaw dropped in astonishment. For the body of Inspector McLeod had suddenly turned to a puddle of white goo, dripping from the seat of the chair down to the floor. He was a ganger! Rory frowned and shook his head, puzzled by this unexpected turn of events.

"Oh. Right. So there's a cloned child and a ganger posing as a policeman, in turn of the century London."Rory nodded matter-of-factly, recovering quickly from his initial surprise. One did that after traveling with the Doctor for a while. "Doctor," he asked curiously, "what exactly is going on here?"

"I think we're about to find out, Rory." The Doctor replied softly. "But on a guess, I don't think he's just here to do a little sight-seeing."

"He? Who's he?" Rory shook his head again, at the Doctor's cryptic answer.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the room shook with maniacal laughter.

Looking up, Rory blinked. Floating about two meters above the desk was a disembodied head. Though the man appeared to be much older, it was the same man he'd seen before. The man in the painting. The man whom had knocked his wife down on the street.

Only this time, the man's head was bizarrely covered with black feathers in place of hair. Perched over the old man's forehead was the head of a raven.

"It is you." The Doctor said, apparently not surprised at all. Stretching out his legs he sat down again. With his hands calmly resting in his lap, the Doctor sat regarding the face above the desk with barely concealed scorn. "I thought the man in that painting looked a little too familiar. The Black Guardian. Long time no see. And I would have preferred to keep it that way." The Doctor frowned deeply. "Why are you here? Why now?"

"Why, indeed? That's easily answered. I'm here to destroy you, Doctor." The old man's voice gloated. The craggy, ugly face gave a ghastly parody of a smile. "But not yet. First, I'm going to kill every single one of your human friends. Even those already dead in your present companion's own time. All of them. Slowly and painfully." The man paused for effect, smiling evilly. "Beginning with a certain girl named Amy."

Out of nowhere, a black clad arm appeared. A gnarled hand with long fingernails reached out. Its fingers made a movement in the air. Tracing the outline of a rectangle. A split second later, an image showed up over the desk. It was flickering, semi-transparent, looking like a small video screen. It showed a view of Amy. The Black Guardian threw back his head laughed mockingly at the Doctor. He was going to force them to watch her die.

"Amy!" Rory cried out in alarm.

The Doctor's face grew pale. His fingers dug into the wooden arms of the chair, as he stared Amy being dragged through some dark tunnel.

"No! You can't! I won't allow it!" He spat out angrily, unable to tear his eyes from the dimly seen image of Amy.

"You have no choice I'm afraid." The Black Guardian said, flashing a triumphant smile down at the Doctor. "Because if you try to move out of that chair, if you even so much as twitch a finger wrong, your friend sitting next to you will die. Rory will go up in flames right before your eyes."

Rory's eyes widened in horror. He looked pleadingly at the Doctor. "Do something, Doctor!"

The Doctor wouldn't look back at him. Instead, he slumped back in his chair. The Doctor bitterly hung his head, knowing that for once he was utterly powerless to do anything to help anyone.

Meanwhile, back in the sewers, Amy decided that she wasn't enjoying her visit to Edwardian London very much.

"Arrrgh! And I thought space whale vomit was bad." She said in a pinched voice, still trying not to breathe through her nose. "I'm warning you boys. You'd better not make me lie down in this sh—"

"Shhh—!" Hissed one of her captors. "Shut yer gob, miss." He growled, "Or I'll shut if for ya'."

The tunnel was not only seriously minging, it was dark and damp as well. Her two captors had one lit candle between them. It did little to keep back the gloom. The brick walls were slimy, and so was the footing. It was all Amy could do to manage to stay upright, even with one of the men holding fast to her right elbow.

Abruptly, the man in leading the way with the candle stopped walking. He had come to a dead end. It was just another brick wall. The ruffian looked over his shoulder at the fellow who was holding Amy, and said in a low voice, "This is it I reckon, Amos. Just like the man said."

"Do you really think it's in there, Morris?" Amo's asked his companion, fearfully eyeing the wall.

"Last bloke who questioned the boss got turned into a pile of ashes. I know. Cos I seen him do it, Amos. If the man says there's a giant rat in this tunnel," Morris shrugged, "who am I to say naught?"

Amy was bundled up to the wall by Amos. Handing Amos his candle to hold for him, Morris searched for the mechanism which triggered the special niche in the wall to open.

"I think I see it!" Morris grunted, his fingers digging into a crack high up on the wall.

Without warning, there came a loud screech. It came from behind the wall. Even muffled by the bricks, when the sound came again, it sounded almost like a roar of rage. They could hear what sounded like scratching against the bricks on the other side of the wall.

"What the hell was that?" Amy cried out. She glanced nervously at the man holding her. "When you said 'giant rat', tell me you just meant bigger than normal."

"I said shut up, girlie. And I meant giant. As in, as big an 'orse. And you're gonna' be its dinner." The man leered maliciously at Amy.

The high-pitched roar came again. And this time it was clear that the animal was right up against the other side of the wall.

"My god Morris! I don't half like the sound of that. Maybe we should just leave the bird here to rot. We don't wanna' let that thing out. None of us will stand a chance." Amos whispered hoarsely. Amy could feel the man trembling with terror.

"Never fear, mate." A much more confident Morris grinned. "I've got it covered." He said, brandishing a revolver he'd just slipped from his pocket.

"Where did it come from, you reckon?" Amos asked, as Morris' fingers worked on the rusty latch embedded in the mortar between two bricks. He was talking to keep his mind off the terror that awaited the three of them on the other side of the wall.

"Got it from that pawn shop near the Black Dog pub." Morris answered, thinking Amos meant his gun.

"No, no!" Amos shook his head, looking anxiously at the wall. "I mean the rat. How long you reckon that thing's been down here?"

There was an audible click from the wall. A small metal bar popped into sight. Gripping it in his hand, Morris heaved it down. The rusty metal lever squealed almost louder than the rat, as the door in the wall came ajar ever so slightly. The scratching and squeals of the rat got even louder.

"Who cares? I've almost got this thing open. Be ready, Amos. We'll just push the girl in and slam the door shut. Easy-peasy." Morris said, gasping with exertion as his fingers now gripped the edge of the brick door.

That's when Amy noticed an entirely new sort of stench coming through the open crack of the door. It took her mind only a few seconds to guess at its origin.

"Er—maybe you should put out that candle, Morris." She suggested.

However, Morris wasn't listening to her. He was busy prying open the door. All of the sudden, a gray, furry paw with long sharp claws shot through the half meter crack. It reached out, trying to get at them.

"Oh my god!" Amos whimpered, trying manfully not to turn and run. "Look at the size of that thing!"

"Never mind that, yer big girl's blouse. Get ready to push her in, Amos!" Morris ordered. "Then I'll slam the door shut and we can get the hell out of here."

Amy felt herself being forced towards the doorway. Morris abruptly pivoted the door open. Amy struggled, trying to throw herself towards the wall. The second the door swung open, the rat charged. Amos screeched in terror, wetting his trousers. In panic, he instinctively flung his candle at the rat. Immediately, there was a loud '_wumpf.'_

A roaring gout of blue and orange flames bellowed from out from the open door, as the tunnel was rocked by a deafening explosion.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The door to the inspector's private office was opened by one of the policemen guarding the door. The little girl came strolling in. She smiled up at the Black Guardian, whose face was still hovering over the desk.

"Can I watch? Oh please daddy, can I?'" The little clone girl asked him eagerly, as if seeing a disembodied head hanging around the ceiling was an everyday occurrence for her.

"Well look who's here. Hello, Lucretia. Somehow, I didn't think you'd be the sort of child who watches Blue Peter." The Doctor said flippantly. "Bitten the feet off of any Jelly Babies, lately? Cut the heads off your dollies?"

The little girl turned to stare at the Doctor. Rory saw that she had a completely blank look on her face. As if her personality had been suddenly switched off. Or, as if she thought no more of them than she did the furnishings.

"Never mind the Doctor, dear. Watch if you like. You can play with the human later, if you want." The Black Guardian gave another of his ghastly smiles. He indicated with his head the flickering image of Amy being lead down some dark tunnel. "And when Amy's gone, the Doctor can watch you turn Rory into a two-legged matchstick." He told her drolly.

Rory instinctively recoiled as the little girl suddenly came to life. She stared eagerly, almost hungrily, at him.

"Oh goody! Thank you, daddy!" The little girl clapped. Flashing Rory a malicious smile of anticipation, she then turned her attention back to watching Amy.

There was audio as well as visual in the image hanging in the air. Cringing, Rory was abruptly mortally afraid for his wife, as the sound of the giant rat echoed through the room.

Outside the door, one of the policemen turned to the other. "Blimey! You hear that?"

"Maybe that mad bloke's gotten loose." The second policeman shrugged.

"You'd better go and see, then." His partner told him officiously.

"Me? Why me?" The other bobby asked.

"Cos I'm senior." The first policeman sniffed.

"Since when, mate?" The second policeman snorted. "You joined up, same day as I did."

"Yeah. But I signed on a whole hour before you, didn't I?" The first policeman said, as if that settled the matter.

Another strange squealing roar came through the office door. With a disgruntled countenance on his face, the second policeman barged into the inspector's office.

"Ere' now, what's going on? You alright, inspec—" the second policeman gaped in shock at the head hovering above the desk. "—tor?"

The Doctor took the instant when the Black Guardian's eyes were turned on the policeman, to try and escape. He flung himself out of the chair, and threw it at a window which was directly behind him. It broke with a loud crash. Without pausing, he bodily yanked Rory out of the chair.

"Come on, Rory! What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Get the lead out!" The Doctor shouted as they ran with all speed towards the shattered window.

"Stop them!" The Black Guardian shouted.

The little girl stiffened. She pivoted away from watching Amy. Her right index finger came up. She pointed it at the Doctor and Rory, as they made their mad dash for the window.

Unfortunately for him, at that very moment, the policeman got in the way. The sizzling bright blue bolt of energy from the girl's finger hit him with full force. Giving a hideous scream, the policeman burst into a ball of flame. The few seconds delay made it possible for the Doctor and Rory to successfully manage to jump through the window. Thankfully, the office was located on the first floor facing the street.

Then, the second policeman came charging through the door. He had just a fraction of a second to witness the ashes of his partner falling to the floor. Then he too, was murdered by the clone girl.

"You little fool!" The Black Guardian snarled at his clone 'daughter'. "I wanted a live Doctor, not pair of dead policemen!"

The black arm shot out of nowhere. It struck the girl down, in the same way she had killed the policemen.

Only, because she wasn't human, it took a few seconds longer and didn't seem to hurt her at all. As her body burned, the little girl smiled and said reverently, "I love you, daddy."

Out on the street, the Doctor made for the quickest way to escape. In front of the police station, a shiny posh carriage was parked. The driver stood holding the horses' heads, while the groom opened the carriage door. He assisted a well dressed late middle aged man down to the street. Just at that moment, the Doctor gave a leap onto the driver's seat.

Rory crashed to a halt. He groaned and rolled his eyes at the sight which greeted him. "Oh no! Not again, Doctor."

Yet, he was given no choice. A shot rang out. Rory instinctively ducked, as a bullet splintered a hole in the side of the carriage.

Someone shouted, "Don't shoot, you idiot!"

However, being shot at was all the incentive Rory needed to clamber up beside the Doctor. Cracking the whip, which made the driver leap away from the horses, the Doctor then sent them into a mad gallop down the street. Leaving a stunned and furious Lord Dunsmore standing on the pavement, watching his carriage being stolen for the second time that day.

"You do realize Doctor, that you've just turned me into a serial carriage jacker?" Rory asked dryly, raising his eyebrows.

Before the Doctor could reply, they heard the pounding of hoofbeats on the cobblestones directly behind them. Looking back, Rory spied a mounted policeman giving chase. He held out a pistol. There followed the crack of a shot, and the Doctor drove the horses on faster. Sparks flew from their pounding hooves, as the Doctor careened through the streets.

Thankfully, it was just past tea time and there was but little pedestrian traffic. The Doctor had entered a warehouse district near the Thames. All of the sudden, a large coal wagon shot out from a side street ahead of them. They heard the policeman cursing the coal driver, as he was abruptly cut off from the pursuit. However, close at hand, there were now also the sounds of raised shouts and police whistles being blown. The noise was coming from somewhere in ahead of them.

Being left with little choice, the Doctor drove through the wide door of a big, long warehouse near the docks. There was another wide open door on the other end. The Doctor steered the horses for it, reining them in to a slow canter down the center aisle of the warehouse. Several workmen heading home for the day, yelled at him to stop.

"Sorry. Late for teatime!" The Doctor shouted back at them. To Rory he grinned with delight and said, "OK. Get ready to jump!"

Gripping on to the carriage for all he was worth, Rory gave the Doctor an incredulous stare.

"Have you lost your flippin' mind? Wait. Don't answer that. I already know." Rory sighed.

"Funny, Rory." The Doctor shot back. "When you get out of prison, you'll make a fortune in the music halls." With his whip hand, he indicated a wide low beam running horizontally across the warehouse. "Now, unless you want to spend the next twenty years wearing black and white pyjamas, and showering with some big ugly bloke whose nick-name is '_Killer_', stand up and grab on to that beam as we go past."

"I wanna' do what?" Rory gulped, eyeing that beam very unhappily. Maybe the Doctor said for him to grab onto his dreams? Rory shook his head negatively. Nah. Who was he kidding? This was the Doctor. He'd probably heard right the first time, unfortunately.

As they neared the beam, Rory saw a policeman emerge up ahead. He was struggling to slide shut the big door at the rear of the warehouse. It was their only obvious escape route. The horses were loping on towards it, with no sign of stopping.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Behind them, the Doctor heard an excited shout and the loud clattering of hooves on cobblestones. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder. It was the mounted policeman. He was just racing his horse through the entrance of the long building. The carriage was rapidly nearing the now half-shut doors at the end of the warehouse. It was still roughly two hundred feet away from the overhanging beam. Slapping the reins, he called out to the horses for more speed.

"Oh, great. That's an idea, Doctor. Let's go faster!" Rory grumbled sarcastically. "And I thought being a plastic centurion battling Cybermen with a sword was dangerous."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Rory?" The Doctor complained.

"Er—I guess Amy forgot to tell you. I'm a nurse, not a Hollywood stunt man." Rory told him, while hanging on to the carriage for dear life.

"I did that, once. I was watching Tom Mix film one of his last silent westerns." The Doctor said. "A stunt man playing an outlaw broke his leg. So I volunteered."

"Well, you would." Rory muttered with an off-hand shrug.

"Had to jump from from the back of a galloping horse onto a runaway stagecoach. Not so different from this, Rory." The Doctor ducked, as a shot suddenly rang out from behind them, then conceded, "Erm—except maybe for the part where I'm being shot at with real bullets, perhaps. "

As he spoke, the Doctor loosely wound the reins around the thin metal handhold next to his seat. He wanted to give the animals their heads, so that they would be less likely to injure themselves. He then stood, balancing precariously.

Alright, Rory. Get ready! This is it." He called out. He reached his arms towards the beam.

"Geronimo!" The Doctor shouted gleefully.

He gave a leap of faith. His outstretched fingers caught the edge of the beam, and he was lifted away from the carriage. Rory paused in doubt. He cursed under his breath as he made his jump. That split-second delay meant that he almost missed the beam altogether. It was thanks to the Doctor's suddenly out-flung arm, that Rory managed to make it at all.

The mounted policeman yanked his horse to a stop and began firing at the Doctor and Rory. They kept as flat as possible, as the two of them swiftly crawled their way along the beam. Keeping low, they found themselves at what appeared to be loading space up under the eaves of the building.

As bullets splintered the walls around them, the Doctor, kneeling down, swung open a wide wooden loading door on its hinges. He stared up at a sight which made him smile broadly. uddenly there came a huge crash. The policeman who'd been shutting the rear door had been forced to dive behind some large crates, as the horses thundered past him. The Doctor guessed aloud that was what had happened, though neither of them was about to risk being shot, by raising their heads to look.

"Oh you beauty! I mean, how perfect is that?" He sang out, with an air of self-congratulation.

There was a block and tackle apparatus mounted to the outside wall, right above the window. And it still had a heavy hemp rope attached to it.

"Er—Doctor..." Rory said, pointing downwards.

"Ah. Now that's not so good." The Doctor admitted mildly, looking down.

Rory thought that those two words were the understatement of the year. Below them was a sheer drop of at least fifty feet. Unfortunately for them, two policemen were standing on the dock directly below them.

However, it appeared that the carriage had indeed overturned. One wheel of the carriage was

sheered off, lying near the edge of the dock. His Lordship's vehicle was now a total loss. It had overturned. When that happened, the whiffle tree and shaft pole which connected the horses

to the carriage had come off. Freed from the vehicle, the two horses had torn their way down the docks. The few policemen guarding the rear of the building screamed in alarm, scattering every which way to avoid being trampled.

In the seconds in which the Doctor studied the scene below, he also spied a way out. The policemen under the window were still dusting themselves off, clearly shaken by their near miss with the frightened horses.

"Quick, Rory. Grab onto the rope and whatever you do, don't let go. At least, not until I tell you to." The Doctor instructed him.

"Whatever it is, I don't want to know. Let's just do it and get it over with, Doctor." Rory sighed. "All I care about right now if finding my wife."

The Doctor and Rory clung for dear life to the rope. The Doctor instructed Rory to help him push off with his feet.

"Listen to me carefully, Rory. When I say to let go, you do it." The Doctor informed him sternly. "Don't even hesitate for a second. Or you won't live long enough to find Amy."

They pushed off. The rope swung out in a wide graceful arc. "Let go, Rory!" The Doctor yelled.

Involuntarily yelling in fear, Rory felt himself drop. With a thump and a sudden expelling of breath, Rory landed on something soft and lumpy. The Doctor had ended up just a little further on. They were on a barge filled with bales of cotton. It was tied up to the dock waiting to be unloaded the next morning. Yet, they weren't out of trouble. The two policemen were already rushing towards the barge's gang plank.

"Quick! This way!" The Doctor called.

He was already up and scrambling over an assortment of bales, crates and barrels to get to the back of the large vessel. There, attached to the barge, was a small row boat. Grabbing hold of a line, the Doctor swung down into the boat. It tipped precariously, nearly toppling him into the Thames. Using his oars he held the craft steady while Rory got in. As dusk drew down on the city, casting long shadows on the water, the Doctor rowed them to safety.

"Are you sure you remember where you parked the TARDIS, Doctor?" Rory asked, as they tied up the boat and climbed up a dock ladder.

"Of course I do! I'm always connected to the TARDIS. We're practically family, her and I." After a moment's concentration, the Doctor pointed east. "That way." He began to walk, then stopped. Turned an about face and pointed west. "No, hang on. I think she's that way."

"You _think_?" Rory asked skeptically.

"I'll have you know this place looks completely different at night." The Doctor whinged. Then he smiled, and said reassuringly, Don't you worry, Rory. I know I parked her around here." Abruptly less sure of himself, he added, "Erm—somewhere."

Back in the tunnel, the choking smoke had finally begun to clear away slightly. The entire place had caved in. Stuck out from a pile of bricks and other rubble was a human leg, and the head of a giant dead rat. There were no signs of life. After the gas explosion, all was quiet beneath the sewers of London.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Was this death? Amy thought. It sort of felt like it. It was pitch black, she could see nothing at all. Doh! Maybe that's because your eyes are shut, Amy Pond, she chided herself. Was that her name? It felt right, so it must be. Coughing, she blinked open her eyes. Nope, still couldn't see a thing. Oh my god! She was not only dead, she was blind! No, that didn't make sense. Think, Amy, think!

"I can see being blind in death if you were blind in life. But, after you die?" Amy thought out loud. "That would be so un-cool." She felt for a pulse. She seemed to have one. "Apparently I am alive. That's a good sign." She coughed again. Something in the air was irritating her throat. Like a million dust particles. "Besides, do dead people talk to themselves? Do they cough? Do they bruise? No, don't think so...then again," she shrugged and winced at the pain that brought her, "how would I know?"

A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Oh jeez." Amy said, heaving a dramatic sigh, "Now I'm starting to sound like the Doctor. Rory will never let me live that down...If I ever see him again." Somehow, she knew he wasn't with her. How did she know that? Where the hell was he, anyway? "And where am I?" She asked herself.

Then, Amy realized that her voice seemed to be echoing back to her. Like a biblical flash of lightning in revelation, she abruptly remembered. The tunnel, the two men, the explosion. "Hello?" She croaked in a pause of coughing. "Is anyone there?"

There was something she was forgetting. Something really important. Oh, yeah. A giant rat. How could she forget something as important as that? The blast must've really scrambled her brains.

"OK, maybe I should shut up now." Amy whispered. The idea of being buried alive with something that could eat her wasn't all that appealing, to put it mildly.

Silence hung in the air, like the dust from the explosion. Amy coughed again, worrying all the while about the noise she was making. She carefully checked her body over. Miraculously, nothing seemed to be broken. Though Amy was sure she was going to have some really spectacular bruises tomorrow. And, judging by the wet trickle rolling down her cheek from her forehead, probably from a cut, she'd be sporting a few sticking plasters, as well.

Slowly and as silently as possible, Amy tottered to her feet. And nearly fell over. While probably not broken, her right ankle wasn't quite wanting to support her weight. It also hurt like hell. Feeling it with her hands, it didn't seem too swollen, so it might not be a sprain. Still, if she had to run...lots of luck with that.

Taking a deep breath of determination, Amy lurched herself forward. And immediately tripped on a brick. It sent her stumbling headfirst. He hands instinctively reached out for something to grab onto. They met with a curved, slimy brick wall. Her hurt foot landed in something soft, squishy and extremely stinky. Amy swore out loud. A single word, which was quite appropriate for the situation she thought wryly. Leave it to the Doctor to take them somewhere in time before the developments of hand sanitizer and modern sewage treatment.

Then Amy tensed, suddenly fearful that the rat might come squealing at her from the darkness. Yet, as the seconds ticked by, there was no sound. Not even a shifting of rubble or drip of water. It was like existing in a vacuum. Or a tomb.

Feeling tears of fear, pain and frustration starting in her eyes, Amy deliberately forced them back. There must be a way out! Trying hard not to think about what was getting on her hands, she methodically began to feel her way around the walls. There was no way of telling which direction she was facing, but it was better than just sitting there feeling sorry for herself. She felt her way down the wall, only to find her way suddenly blocked by a pile of rough stone and brick. She went back the other way. The same thing.

A half hour later, Amy had to face a terrible fact: both ends of the tunnel had apparently caved in. She was trapped in the dark, in the sewers of Edwardian London, with no way out.

Gulping down a sob, Amy rested on a pile of rubble. She said softly, "Oh Rory. Doctor. Please. Please find me."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"There she is!" The Doctor smiled, "Safe and sound." He gave the TARDIS an affectionate pat and unlocked the door. As he bounded towards the console, he said to Rory, "I'll just focus the DNA decodifier on a superhyphonic frequency compatible with Amy's unique human cerebral wave patterns. I can then use it to home the TARDIS in on her location."

"That sounds like it could take awhile, Doctor." Rory said uncertainly.

Spinning around the Doctor waved his arms proudly, "Absolutely not! I admit, I haven't needed to do this in several regenerations, but it's like riding a fusion-drive star bike. You never forget how. And, because Amy's been in the TARDIS as long as she has, the process should be easier than falling off a log, learning to dance the box step, and guessing Dolly Parton's bra size." He saw Rory raise an eyebrow. "Erm—long story. Never mind. It was a stupid pub quiz, anyway."

"Oh. Right. I've done a few of those." Rory nodded his head sagely, as if he understood. He turned his worried face towards the console, where the Doctor was already setting about his work. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Actually, there is, Rory."

"Anything you want, Doctor." Rory replied, ready to spring into action, "I'm your man."

"A nice cup of tea would go down a treat right now, ta." The Doctor said, giving Rory an absent-minded wave of thanks, as he stood staring at readout being typed out by the old fashioned typewriter attached to the console.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Rory trudged off to the kitchen to make tea. If it helped get Amy back safe and sound, he'd walk all the way to China and pick the leaves himself. He knew the Doctor probably just wanted him out of the way, so he could get on with his work without any distractions. However, if that was the Doctor's plan, he was soon to be in for disappointment.

About fifteen minutes later, Rory re-entered the console room with a mug of tea in hand. The Doctor beamed a satisfied smile at him.

"Amy's not dead, Rory. I've got a definite fix on her location." Before Rory could ask, he added, "I know she's alive, or I wouldn't be able to do that. The cerebral wave index would automatically flat line. Now, let's go and drop in on Mrs. Pond and see how she's getting on."

With a happy flourish, the Doctor threw a switch on the console. Without warning, two things happened at once. First, the console blew up in a shower of sparks sending the Doctor reeling backwards. It caused a startled Rory to spill the mug of tea all over the front of his shirt.

"Ow! Damn it! Gotta' hand it to you, Doctor. Once again, your timing is impeccable!" He muttered crossly, dropping the mug, as the boiling hot liquid penetrated his skin through the wet shirt.

Then, the Black Guardian's laugh filled the console room. Almost as if it was being broadcast over a Tannoy.

"Behind you!" Rory shouted. He'd looked up from hopping around in pain, to see the black robed old man suddenly appear directly behind the Doctor.

"No-no-no-no-no!" The Doctor shouted, staring at the console in dismay. "Not that!"

His hands balling into fists, the Doctor grimly turned to face the Black Guardian. The ugly old man simply stood there with folded arms and a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"One by one, Doctor. Until there are none." He said menacingly.

"Oh great! Now I am in trouble, if you're going to start quoting bad horror film lines at me." The Doctor retorted sarcastically.

"He's next on the list. And you're going to watch him die." The Black Guardian said. He slowly raised his hand to point at Rory. He gave a ghastly smile, relishing the moment.

"No, don't!" The horror-stricken Doctor shouted, moving to protect Rory from the coming blast.

Just as the Black Guardian was about to deal out death, he suddenly screamed in pain. Clutching his hands to his head, he sank to the floor. Both Rory and the Doctor were taken aback by what they saw next.

Another old man had turned up in the TARDIS. He was dressed identically to the Black Guardian, except that this man was all in white.

"Wait. Don't tell me." Rory said to the Doctor, pointing at the newcomer. "That would be the White Guardian."

"Rory!" The Doctor admonished him with a wave of his arm. "You're the companion. You're supposed to ask _me_ the questions. Not answer the question yourself, before you've even asked the question. You're also supposed to scream and run away. Why aren't you screaming and running away? They used to do an awful lot of screaming, my companions." The Doctor rattled off with a frown. He paused and scratched his head. "OK. Not entirely sure I really miss that bit. Used to go through an awful lot of headache power, back then."

"Doctor, if I may interrupt?" The White Guardian politely said. Rory thought this man looked very wise and kind. And his very bearing appeared to be more dignified than that of his counterpart, as well. "You must leave this time capsule at once. For I fear that I cannot keep the Black Guardian at bay for long."

And indeed, the Doctor noted with new-found concern, that the kindly old man seemed to be under a tremendous strain. In fact, as the Doctor watched, the White Guardian gave a small cry and seemed to wobble a bit. Both Rory and the Doctor rushed to aid him, but the old man held out a hand for them to stop.

"No! You must go, both of you. Now." He gasped. "Before it's too late. The Black Guardian grows ever stronger, the more he retains this corporeal existence. Run, Doctor!"


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Leading the way, the Doctor tore out of the TARDIS with Rory fast on his heels. They'd run approximately a quarter mile before Rory began to run out of steam. Even though he knew it was petty of him, he couldn't help but be annoyed at the fact that the Doctor barely seemed to be breathing very hard. His back slumped against the side of London Bridge, Rory shook his head despondently.

"It's no good, is it?" He gasped. "We're never going to find Amy now, are we Doctor?"

"You know," the Doctor frowned at him. "you really should change your name. To Thomas. As in 'doubting' Thomas. Oh ye of little faith, Rory. I'm a bit disappointed in you right now. Do you really think I'd give up on Amy that easily?"

"You mean," Rory asked hopefully, "It's safe now to go back and get the TARDIS? Why didn't you say so?"

"No, Rory," the Doctor shook his head negatively, "not the TARDIS, I'm afraid. I had just enough time to see that the Black Guardian managed to fry the astrosextant rectifier. Even though-tecnically, she still can fly, for all intents and purposes, the TARDIS is totally out of commission. I'd have no way of knowing where or when we'd land. Can't take that chance."

"But...isn't that actually sort of...you know..._normal_ for the TARDIS?" Rory asked, as tactfully as possible.

"Rory, this is completely different." The Doctor threw up his hands, as if unable to believe that Rory was that thick. "With the astrosextant out of phase, we could well end up somewhere thousands of light years from where we want to be. Maybe even someplace _seriously_ boring! Like, say, Minnesota, Belgium, or the Found Moon of Poosh. Let me tell you. If I'd known they'd turn Poosh into a lunar bathing resort, I'd of left it in the Medusa Cascade. People doing nothing all night but lying around in deck chairs, drinking inebriants and getting a moon tan. Bleurgh! How do you humans manage not to die of boredom?"

"And, the prospect of being bored...that's worse than Amy dying, is it?" Rory asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

"The point is, Rory," The Doctor explained patiently, oblivious to the sarcasm, "that I might plot a course for the London sewers and send us to Poosh...or we could fly straight into the heart of a super-nova. And that would end our trip rather quickly, I'm afraid Even the TARDIS wouldn't be able to withstand something like that."

"Ah. Right. So using the TARDIS is out." Rory nodded. "How do you plan on finding my wife, then?"

"It'll be OK, Rory. I've still got my sonic. I can modulate the frequency much in the same way as I did in the TARDIS. Not as accurate or reliable I'm afraid, but it should narrow down the area she's in enough for us to estimate her general whereabouts."

"Estimate? What good's a blinking estimate?" Rory huffed. "This isn't a double glazing firm, Doctor. You're talking about my wife The wrong estimate could cost Amy her life."

"Relax, Rory!" The Doctor smiled, pulling out his sonic screwdriver and fiddling with the settings. "It'll be fine. I've never let Amy down yet. Well, hopefully not, anyway. I mean, if I had let her down, I'm quite sure she would've told me. Very opinionated girl. Which is very good I suppose..." he held up the sonic and frowned at it, giving it a couple of sharp raps with the flat of his palm. "...arrgh! What's wrong with this thing? What was I saying, Rory?"

"Amy. You were saying she had a mind of her own. Like I didn't already know that." Rory shrugged.

Ah, yes. Thinks for herself. Lovely trait in a human. Much better than someone who simply goes along with everything I say and do, without asking a single question. What a dreadful companion that would make." The Doctor made a face. "Yech! I might just as well start hanging around with a sheep! Standing around all day, staring blankly into space, chewing and pooing...or is that a conservative politician?" He gave a blasé shrug. "Meh. Same thing, really."

Abruptly, a high pitched bleeping sound emitted from the sonic. As the Doctor spun around like some demented whirling dervish, the noise distinctly grew louder when the sonic was pointed downriver.

Flashing Rory a triumphant grin, the Doctor shouted, waving his arms about like an overexcited monkey, "Oh yes! Amy Pond I'm reading you loud and clear! There! That way! Let's go and find your wife, Rory. Or, maybe she'll find us. Who knows? Amy's clever enough that she may have eluded her kidnappers and be headed this way, right now."

In the total darkness, something moved. Amy's breathing became much more shallow as the air became more hot and close. And reeking of things she'd rather not think too much about. The rubble to the left of her stirred again, louder this time.

"Hello? Is someone there?" She whispered hoarsely.

In answer there came a muffled squeal of pain and fear. The dirt and crumbled bricks moved again, closer this time. Amy gave out an involuntary shriek and stood up suddenly, as a sharp claw lashed out in the darkness and shredded what remained of her long skirt. Amy gasped as she felt the stinging pain of a deep scratch on her left calf.

Slipping out of the remains of the garment, Amy blindly backed away quickly.

"Be just my luck to trip on my petticoat, or whatever women of this time period call this under slip thingy." Amy grumbled to herself, lifting up the long white undergarment so she could walk backwards towards what she hoped was the wall. "Wear something appropriate to the time period the Doctor said. Yeah. A time period without man-eating prehistoric sewer rats, maybe."

Without warning, the giant rat gave an angry, terrified screech. It heaved its mighty body out of the dirt and bricks which had trapped its stunned body. Showered with rubble, Amy cried out, backing against the slimy curved wall of the sewer. The darkness was so absolute, she couldn't even see the gleam in the creature's cold, beady eyes.

Hearing Amy's cry, the rat instinctively reacted. It charged towards the sound. Thankfully, Amy had already slipped away, moving towards her right as quickly as her lack of vision and the debris of collapsed tunnel allowed. Just as unable to see as she was, the rat crashed into the wall at full force.

The impact caused the wall to crumble. Amy ducked, coughing and waving away the dust. The rat lay on the floor, stone dead. The impact had automatically crushed the animal's skull. That's when she realized. She could see! A section of the wall had given way completely, taking part of the street above with it. A dusky sky shown through the jagged hole above. Spitting on her hands, Amy rubbed them on her soiled petticoat and carefully began to climb up the pile of brick and stone.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Holding out the bleeping sonic screwdriver like a divining rod, the Doctor began to walk across old London Bridge. Rory followed, but he didn't look happy. His thoughts were all on Amy, wondering if she was alright. Without warning, the bleeping stopped. Coming to a halt, the Doctor frowned and shook the sonic. It gave a few desultory bleeps then went dead, its bright green tip fading to a dull glow.

"What! No! Behave! Bad sonic!" The Doctor shouted through gritted teeth, as he fussed with the settings.

"What's wrong now?" Rory asked, throwing up his hands. He looked around suspiciously. "Something's interfering with the sonic. Is it the Black Guardian?

"Not now, Rory!" The Doctor said, as he frantically fiddled with the device's controls. "Something's interfering with the sonic. Might be the Black Guardian. Then again, it might just be someone using a hair dryer. No, scratch that. They haven't invented those yet. So either it must be the Black Guardian, or Amy's suddenly turned into wood."

The sonic went completely dead. Down below, a face appeared on the surface of the Thames. The Black Guardian's laugh drifted up to them from the river, echoing off the stone bridge abutments.

The Doctor choose to ignore it. Instead, he crossed the cobblestone road and stood leaning against the railing. Gazing westward, the Doctor watched the sun giving way to the night. Slowly, across London, street lamps winked into existence. He felt rather than saw, Rory coming up to him.

"I'm sorry, Rory. I'm so, so sorry." The Doctor said quietly.

"Tell that to Amy." Rory retorted.

"I deserve that, I suppose." The Doctor admitted sadly. "It's all my fault. I get carried away, and forget..."

"No." Rory said, softening his attitude, "No you don't deserve that, Doctor. It's not _all_ your fault. Amy and I, we know what you're like. TARDIS travel isn't exactly the safest mode of transport. We know that, and still decided to go along with you. No one twisted our arms. And, you have been trying you best to get her back."

"If I only knew where she was, that's the worst bit. All this Time Lord technology, and it's useless!" The Doctor said, kicking the wall in frustration. "Ow."

"It's a good thing Rory's a nurse, cos' you're gonna' break your toe if you keep doing that, Doctor." Came an amused voice from behind them.

"Amy!" Shouted Rory and the Doctor, spinning around to see her standing there behind them.

"That's my name. Don't wear it out." Amy shrugged, with a twinkle in her eye.

Amy had wandered the banks of the Thames, till she found a familiar landmark. Along the way, she'd gotten some strange stares from the few passersby she'd met. Because Amy had grown up looking at a painting of the old bridge, she recognized it at once. The painting was on the wall over the fireplace, in the lounge of her parent's house. Comparing it with the painting, she thought the artwork was nicer than the real thing. Amy had got halfway across it, when she'd spied her two boys.

Rory and the Doctor rushed up to hug her. The Doctor grabbed her in a bear hug, grinning from ear to ear. Unusually, Rory hung back. Hands jammed into his pockets, he had a disconcerted look on his face.

"What's wrong with you?" Amy asked, as the Doctor stepped back. Her face had a hurt look on it.

"Erm—nothing...it's only that...how can I say this without hurting your feelings?" Rory tried to explain.

"I think he's trying to say that you're minging." The Doctor put in, innocent in the knowledge of any rude behaviour on his part. "Whew! You stink! I had to block my sense of smell. You seriously need a bath and change of clothing, Pond."

Holding his breath, Rory leaned in and gave his wife a hug and a quick kiss. "I am so glad to see you, Amy." He said sincerely.

"Thanks for stating the obvious, Doctor." She told him sarcastically, stepping back and looking him up and down critically. "So, there I was trapped in a London sewer with a giant rat, and you two are out here watching the sunset? Nice to know you weren't running around in a panic looking for me."

"Well, actually..." Rory started to say,.

"Never give in to unreasoning hate-and-slash-or fear, Pond. Very dangerous, doing that. Cuts off the blood supply to your brain. Makes you paranoid. I can't stand dealing with paranoid people. It's like trying to carry on a conversation with a melon."

"OK, whatever you say. Rory, I think I need to...what _are_ you looking at, Doctor?" Amy asked.

The Doctor had gone back to leaning on the wall, staring westward.

"Sunset. Delicious, isn't it?" The Doctor answered

"It's beautiful." Rory agreed.

""Don't encourage him, Rory." Amy nudged Rory in the ribs. "Doctor. I've just escaped from kidnappers and am reeking of poo. And you want to stand there admiring the sunset?"

"That's one of the things I don't understand with humans of your generation, Amy."

"Careful! You're showing your age, Doctor. You're beginning to sound like some cranky old pensioner. What's so great about the sunset?" She shrugged. "They happen every day, you know."

He turned to face her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"That sunset, Amy. It's a living work of art. A picture only nature can paint. And the really gobsmacking thing is, that no two will ever be exactly alike. Nature is always changing. Every second of every day. If I live another nine hundred years, I shall never see another sunset exactly like this one. Maybe you think all the wonders are out there, in space. But you'd be wrong, Amy. They're here as well. Right over your head and all around you. I think that's worth taking a moment's pause for, don't you?"

All of the sudden, a half a dozen thugs appeared out of the dusk, they were blocking one end of the bridge, coming towards the threesome, bearing cudgels and knives.

"OK! Done with the pausing." The Doctor said, noting the danger. "Lesson over. Time for PE. Quick jog along the Thames, anyone?"


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Running for the other side of the bridge the Doctor's feet pounded the cobblestones. Amy and Rory ran for their lives. Yet, the mob of thugs kept closing fast behind them. An unhealthy yellow fog reeking of coal-fire smoke slowly crept its way over the city. So thick was it, that it began to smother London Bridge. The Doctor suddenly pulled up short. Out of the encroaching premature darkness, another band of unsavory looking men had appeared. These newcomers were quite effectively blocking the Doctor's escape route off of the bridge.

Amy coughed on the turgid night air. Only minutes ago, the tranquil evening sky had been fair and clear. The fog and damp, foul atmosphere had seemingly appeared as if by magic. She looked wildly around. However, there seemed to be no way out of their predicament. They were trapped! One band of thugs, their hulking forms mere shadows in the yellow murk, were herding the Doctor and his friends towards the other men. Amy suddenly knew what cattle being sent into an abattoir must feel like.

Strangely, the Doctor didn't seem the least bit disturbed by their abrupt and unfortunate downturn of luck. In fact, he was grinning like a child about to be given a sack full of boiled sweets.

"This is so not good!" Rory sighed, putting his arms protectively around Amy's shoulders. On getting a snootful of her _parfum du sewáge_, he made a face and quickly removing his hands, stood slightly downwind of his wife. Shooting a guilty, sheepish look at Amy, Rory asked, "Now what, Doctor?"

"Oh, I imagine I'll think of something...given time." He shrugged, casually jamming his hands in his jacket pockets and watching the thugs slowly closing a circle around them. The Doctor behaved as if they were stranded on a motorway with a puncture, instead of being in real danger of getting shot or bludgeoned to death. Or both.

"I hope by 'time' you mean sometime within the next thirty seconds, Doctor." Amy said dryly.

"Yes Amy, time." The Doctor sniffed indignantly. "And to be more accurate, I'd say we have something like four minutes and thirty-nine seconds before those nasty gentlemen come to grips with us." Taking his hands out of his jacket pockets, he smiled and pointed at the bridge like a tour guide. "In the meantime, why don't you take a moment to enjoy being on one of the truly great landmarks of the early twentieth century, hmmm—?"

"Oh sure. Great. Ye olde London Bridge. Lovely. I'll buy a post card later and give it to my mum. If I live to see her again, that is." Amy replied shortly.

"It is lovely, isn't it?" The Doctor nodded eagerly in agreement, either oblivious to the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it. "I was saying so to Rory earlier. All the artwork in the world simply doesn't do this bridge justice. You have to see it up close to truly appreciate it."

"Yeah, Doctor. Especially with all of this beautiful fog to hide it." Amy coughed, waving tendrils of yellow mist away from her face.

"I think I can help with that." He said, palming his sonic screwdriver.

The Doctor sonicked two gas lamps, first one behind them and then one across the road. In each, a flame instantly sputtered to life. The lamps barely lightened the gloom of the insalubrious atmosphere, which gathered itself around them like a woolly, damp cloak. Still, however dim, their glow was a welcome beacon of civilization in a world reverting to the barbarians.

"There!" The Doctor chortled, spinning in glee, "That's more like it! Let there be light!" He stopped spinning and admired his handiwork, spreading his arms wide and quoting reverently, "'_Those posts of magic light, blessed lamps of ceaseless mystery are there, are there to light the trampers and the holes that might be fear.'_"

"'_Light and Fog: London_'. It's a poem by Lorna Green, young American woman from Vermont." The Doctor rattled off, "Well, she hasn't written the poem yet. She will, though. About a dozen years from now. Marvelous girl! I think she had a crush on my companion, Bernice. The three of us had a splendid picnic on top of Mount Ascutney. Lorna made the best deviled eggs and fried chicken I'd ever tasted. Afterwards, I took her to see Ramses riding his chariot before the walls of Kadesh."

"Is that your plan, then?" Amy asked incredulously. "You're going to spout poetry at those blokes until they fall asleep?" She shook her head at Rory, rolling her eyes.

He too, looked more than a little dubious. "I know you're over nine hundred years old, Doctor. But I didn't think you were going potty...until now." Rory said. Then he cocked his head, pondering, "Or are you deliberately planning on making them think you're crazy? Maybe they won't want to harm a lunatic?"

Ignoring their remarks, the Doctor stared intently at the gas lamp across the road. Its light was slowly being suffocated in the choking gloom. Nevertheless, to him the fading circular glow shone like a halo of hope in the melancholy night.

"Judging by how fast it's come in," the Doctor frowned, "I'd say this fog isn't entirely a natural weather phenomena. The Eternals could show the Nazi's a thing or two about intimidation tactics. Actually they did, come to think of it."

"That Black Guardian chap is making things rather difficult for us, Doctor." Rory agreed, squinting through the fog at their would be assailants and wishing he had his trusty Roman sword. He'd show those thugs a thing or two.

"The who?" Amy asked.

"No, no! Not '_The Who'_! They haven't been born yet. Pay attention, Pond." The Doctor said, tearing his eyes away from the lamp post. "The Black Guardian is the man you saw in the portrait." He explained. "He's an old enemy of mine. Probably still upset over that whole Key to Time thing...and losing The Great Race...and..." the Doctor swallowed looking suddenly uncomfortable, "... that incident with the cream pie on Metabellis One." He shook his head mournfully. "Sad to say that with the exception of Captain Jack, immortal beings have absolutely no sense of humour whatsoever. I'm telling you Amy, that whole living forever thing is such a drag. I have no clue why anyone would want to do it. That's why I'm glad I'm merely a Time Lord. Love a good laugh, me."

Despite the murky weather, the Doctor, Amy and Rory could clearly see their opponents now. Silently gathering around them were a dozen men of various shapes and sizes, from beefy middleaged bruisers to slim young men with builds like jockeys. All of them garbed in ragged, dirty clothing, slowly they advanced, relentlessly forming an ever-tightening circle around the Doctor and his friends. Some hefted clubs and cosh's weighted with lead shot, others possessed knives. A few had pistols gripped in their hands. One enormous bald, gap-toothed fellow was brandishing an ax. When that fellow leered nastily at Amy, she felt herself give an involuntary shudder.

"OK, this is looking rather grim." Rory said unnecessarily. "What are we going to do now, Doctor? I mean, you _do_ have a plan, don't you?"

"Let the nice thugs talk to us, have a little chit-chat. Exchange biscuit recipes, gossip about the Royals, trade tips on breaking and entering, ask them if they've seen the latest West End musical, and then get them to tell me all their plans so I can foil them. You know," the Doctor said flippantly, unconsciously waving about his hands for emphasis, "the usual thing."

"Why don't you pretend we're sightseers and ask them to take our photo while you're at it?" Amy asked sarcastically, staring at the Doctor as if he'd finally gone round the bend.

"Hold on, Amy. I think I get it. He wants them to take us to the Black Guardian." Rory suggested.

Beaming at Rory the Doctor spun around, pointing both fingers at him. "Exactamun...oh no. I don't like that word anymore, do I? Bad, bad word. Well, not '_dirty_' bad, but...what was I saying? Oh yes! Rory! My brilliant Mr. Pond! I knew there was a reason I let you keep him in the TARDIS, Amy. Sharp as the proverbial tack, our Rory."

"'_Our_' Rory?" Amy gave her husband an affectionate nudge. "_My_ Rory, Doctor. And don't you forget it!" She said with mock sterness, waggling a finger at him. And he has to be in the TARDIS. I don't go anywhere without my boys."

"Hold on a tick." Rory said suddenly disconcerted. "That makes us sound like your pets."

"Well, you are cute and cuddly and great at fetching things." Amy teased. Then she caught a glimpse of the ax bloke again. He was so close now she could see a jagged red scar running across his stubbly right cheek. "Doctor," She asked, "What if they don't want to take us to their leader? What if they just want to kill us and chuck our bodies off the bridge?"

"I've gotta' say that I don't really fancy a bath right now, Doctor. Though Amy could certainly use one." Rory said, quickly ducking away before his wife could jab him in the ribs.

"Er—sorry. But I'm afraid that's exactly what you're going to have to do, you two. The Thames isn't too terribly cold this time of year. You shouldn't have any worries about hypothermia." The Doctor said apologetically.

"What!" Amy and Rory both exclaimed.

"No way, Doctor. You'd better not be thinking what I think you're thinking." Amy said, with a worried frown creasing her face.

"Have you gone completely bonkers? That's one helluva' drop, Doctor. We'll both be killed!" Rory protested, casting a frightened glance at the bridge railing behind them.

"I've been slowly manuvering us towards the end of the bridge. It's not that far down from there. I wouldn't ask you to do this, if I didn't thought you wouldn't survive the fall." The Doctor said encouragingly. "Besides. The Black Guardian wants you dead. He wants me alive to watch you die. I won't let that happen. Amy. Rory. You must trust me," He whispered affectionately, drawing them closer to him, "here's what I need you to do..."

Across the road, a bearded man in a torn and dirty frock coat and scruffy top hat was taking careful aim with his pistol. It was pointing directly at Rory's chest. Closer in, one of the thugs approached them. It was the ax man. Smiling evilly, he hefted the weapon over his head.

Amy, instead of shrinking back from him, smiled alluringly, lifting up her skirt to show off one leg. The big bald-headed man wavered slightly, the ax wobbling, stopped dead in the course of its swing over his head.

The Doctor used the momentary distraction to palm his sonic screwdriver and point it at the lamp post on the opposite side of the road. With a quick burst of humming noise from the sonic, the gas within the lamp post exploded violently. An gout of flame roared upwards lending the yellow fog an eerie glow. The sleeve of the thug pointing a pistol at Rory caught fire. Screaming in terror, the man threw himself off of the bridge.

The bald man yelped with surprise. He dropped his ax and ran for his life. Others in the circle of thugs scattered, running every which way, screaming incoherently in their fear of further explosions. Others, the toughest of the lot, stayed put. Still, even they backed off from the Doctor and his strange wand thing that could make street lamps explode.

Waiting until he was certain the way was clear, the Doctor turned and called out to his friend. "Now! Go! Jump!"

Amy and Rory scrambled up on top of the wall at the end of the bridge. "It's still a long drop, Doctor!" A Rory said through gritted teeth.

"Don't look down then, Rory." Amy said, closing her eyes, taking a breath and gripping Rory's hand.

Together, they jumped. "Geronimo!" Amy yelled on the way down, mimicking the Doctor. There was a spash, and then they disappeared under the fog shrouded waters of the Thames.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Jamming his hands into his pockets, the Doctor leaned against the wall. He smiled benignly at the men who were once again closing on him, a human snare. He had no illusions. The Doctor was wanted alive. But only long enough to force him to watch the deaths of everyone he'd ever cared for. Even those friends and family already lost amid the long and convoluted track of his life.

His old adversary obviously wanted to relish his revenge, like a particularly succulent piece of meat. The Doctor knew all too well that he was the main course for the Black Guardian's tea time.

That the eternal being had deliberately caused the deaths of all those innocent people he'd read about in the newspaper, the Doctor had no doubt. The knowledge burned in him like a red hot coal. Yet, why had the Black Guardian chosen to spend so much time in Earth's past? And what did he do with that missing girl?

Something tugged at the back of his mind. A memory stirred, fluttering like a leaf in the whisper of a soft summer breeze. Then, it was gone. A formless wrath in the mists of remembrance. There was more to the Black Guardian's plans than what appeared on the surface. But, what?

All this passed through the Doctor's thoughts as he waited to be taken. The man with the ax had regained his composure. Returning to the Doctor he stepped forward, hefted his weapon and started to swing it in an upward arc.

However, before the man could finish his move, a wiry, scar-faced fellow deliberately grabbed the ax man's arm. The newcomer must've been a brave man, to face the wrath of the ax wielder. Scowling dangerously, the big man looked down upon the smaller one. Little scar-face merely narrowed his eyes and shook his head in the negative. Surprisingly, the burly ax man suddenly looked sheepish and lowered his weapon again. The wiry man then bound the Doctor, before placing a rough sack over his head.

"I beg your pardon, boys. But is all this truly necessary?" The Doctor protested jovially. "I mean, tie me up by all means, if that makes you feel safe from the bad old Doctor. That's me, by the way. In case you weren't paying attention. I really don't need to be blindfolded, though. That's a bit over the top, if you ask me. Supposing that you lot are so seriously thick that you hadn't noticed, it's a real pea-souper out here. I probably couldn't find my toes without a torch, let alone see where I'm going. And this sack smells absolutely _minging_. What did you keep in here? Dog sh—"

"Shut yer gob!" Yelled the wiry man, shoving the Doctor roughly forward. "Or I'll let Morris here have a go at ya' with his ax! Then you'll be arrivin' at yer destination in pieces. Hold yer nose if'n yer don't like the smell."

"Right. I'll just hold my nose then, shall I?" Came the nasally, contrite voice of the Doctor from under the sack.

A small knot of armed and angry men then quickly dragged the Doctor along among them. The little procession wound its way through a maze of stinking alleyways, and then onto what seemed to the Doctor to be a quiet cobblestone street. They halted abruptly. The Doctor could hear the mutter of voices, but the words were indistinct. He was lead up a short series of steps. Seconds later, the hood was unceremoniously yanked from his head. Screwing up his face, the Doctor let out a tremendous sneeze.

"Don't suppose you've got any tissues on you?" He politely asked the ax-wielding Morris. All the Doctor got in return was a surly stare. "No," he shrugged, "I'm guessing they haven't been invented yet. I'd rather not be seen using my sleeve. My companions always seem to dislike that. No idea why. Humans will have their pet peeves." Morris sneezed also, wiped his nose on his sleeve and gave a loud, long sniffle. The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Of course my pet peeve is, that I can't stand that disgusting noise people make when they snort their own snot up their nose..."

"I said, shut it, toff!" The wiry man said, poking the Doctor in the ribs for emphasis with his pistol. "I'd hate to have to spill yer blood all over the man's nice clean door step."

"Hmm—yes, so would I, come to think of it. It is a _very_ clean doorstep. Someone's maid has done quite a job keeping that so spotless." The Doctor said admiringly. "I wonder what type of soap she uses—ooaf!"

It took a second, and much harder, jab in the ribs to shut the Doctor up this time.

Before him was the green-painted door of a white Georgian era home. It was on a short street of virtually identical homes, except for the variation of colours on their doors and window shutters. Although those weren't easy to see. It was full on dark now. The fog was thicker than ever, and the only light came begrudgingly from a few guttering street lamps and lamplight from the windows of neighbouring houses. Across the road, through the thick yellow murk, he could just glimpse the nondescript mouldering red bricks of what appeared to be the back of a row of mews.

Just then, the door swung open. A tall, dignified looking footman in dark blue livery gestured for the Doctor and the wiry man to enter. Morris began to follow behind them. Yet surprisingly, the stern look and upraised hand of the footman stopped the big man cold. Backing off, Morris instead stood guard at the foot of the steps, fondly cradling his ax like a baby.

Looking down his nose at the wiry man, the footman silently handed him a thick envelope that had been left sitting on an elegant regency table in the entrance hall. The man swiftly pocketed the money with practiced expertise. The footman then lead the way into a library. Three of its walls were crammed floor to ceiling with shelves of leather-bound books.

Several Queen Anne style chairs and uncomfortable looking horsehair stuffed Victorian sofa made up the seating arrangements of the room. A few regency tables held various tasteful objects d'art. Near a window sat a large ornate mahogany desk and chair. The oak floor was minimally covered here and there with a few richly decorated prayer mats and Asian dhurries.

On the forth wall, over a huge marble fireplace, was a portrait of the Black Guardian. He was dressed in the bearskin hat and short braided jacket of a Light Brigade officer during the Crimean War period.

"His Lordship shall be with you presently. He instructionsare that you will wait for him here. And _don't_ touch anything." The footman said stiffly.

Backing out of the room, the footman firmly shut the door behind him. The Doctor distinctly heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. He immediately strolled over to the desk and picked up a tall crystal paperweight in the shape of a plinth. Holding it up to one eye, he stared at the Black Guardian's portrait through the narrow piece of glass.

"Nope. Doesn't help." The Doctor said out loud, "He's still an ugly muggins, posh uniform or no."

Without warning, he whirled around and threw the paperweight at the wiry man. "Here, catch!"

Without thinking, the scar-faced man dropped the pistol he was holding in order to catch the paperweight before it struck him in the head. In a few quick strides the Doctor was there. With a footballer's accuracy, he kicked the pistol under the sofa.

Unfortunately, the Doctor kicked it so hard that it rebounded off one leg of the sofa. The pistol then spun back across the highly polished wood floor, landing at the feet of the thug. The wiry man quickly snatched the pistol back. With a smug grin he waved it under the Doctor's nose, motioning for him to step back. Seeing he had no choice, the Doctor decided to go and investigate the books on a nearby bookshelf. "Love a library." He said out loud.

"Yeah? Can you find a book about escapin', then? Cos' looks to me like you could use one, mate." The wiry man said sarcastically. "Only a toff would prefer them there books for his entertainment." He snorted. "Give me a good lookin' woman and a few snorts of gin, any day."

"Decades, hundreds, even thousands of years of human knowledge at your fingertips. A never-ending feast for the mind. How could anyone not love a library? That's like...not caring if you're breathing." The Doctor puzzled, busily scanning the titles. "Maybe there is a how-to manual in here. '_Escaping From Pistol Packing Punks for Dummies_.' Won't do for me, however. I'm a genius. Spent hundreds of years dealing with your sort. Shouldn't need instructions, me. Though apparently, I am getting a tad rusty..." The thug started to open his mouth. The Doctor's back was turned, but he said, "...and if you yell at me to shut up one more time, I'm going to tell your dad. See if you're allowed to stay up late to watch reruns of _Coupling_ anymore..."

Just then, there was the sound of the key turning in the lock. The Black Guardian stepped into the room. He was wearing a velvet smoking jacket, looking every inch the aristocratic lord.

"Toby, how very efficient of you to bring the Doctor to me so swiftly." The Black Guardian addressed the wiry man with an oily smile. "If you'll be so good to step outside, my man will see that you get a little liquid refreshment before you go on your way."

"Cheers, guv." Toby said, pocketing his revolver and following the footman out the door.

"Do you think I would allow you escape me so easily, Doctor?" The Black Guardian asked smoothly, as the door was shut and locked once more.

"Erm—is that question worth extra credit? Should I write my answer on one side of the paper only, with a number two pencil?"

"Always the buffoon, Doctor." The Black Guardian sneered. "Have your jokes now. Soon enough you shall find little to laugh about, I think."

Suddenly, from somewhere outside, down the hall from the room, the Doctor heard the thug the Black Guardian called 'Toby.' He was raising his voice in argument, protesting about something. Then, Toby was shouting the word 'no' over and over again.

There was a brief silence. After a few minutes, from somewhere down below them, the Doctor heard the wiry man give out a long, horrific scream. He made a move for the door, but the Black Guardian blocked his way. In his hand was a rather nasty looking stun gun. The Doctor had no doubt his adversary would not hesitate to use it.

"No, Doctor. It is too late. You cannot save him now."

"What did you do to him?" The Doctor snarled angrily.

"Let's just say that I have one further use for Toby's services." The Black Guardian answered cryptically. "Sit down, Doctor. Make yourself at home. You're going to be here for a while."

Very reluctantly the Doctor sat down in a chair near the fireplace. He folded his hands across his lap and stretched out his long, gangly legs, sullenly eyeing his opponent.

The Black Guardian strode over to a bell pull hanging from the wall. Smiling, he reached up and gave it a few tugs. "Perhaps some refreshment before we begin, Doctor?" He said, though his tone made it clear that he did not really care whether the Doctor actually wanted anything to drink.

The Doctor turned and looked curiously at a grating sound coming from behind him. A secret panel had suddenly swung open in the wall of one of the bookcases. Through it stepped a butler. He was walking almost ceremoniously, and with great dignity, carrying a tray with a whiskey decanter and two cut crystal glasses on it. When the Doctor saw the face of the butler, his jaw dropped. He stood up, pointing at the newcomer.

"But that's...that's not..." The Doctor stammered.

"Yes, it is." The Black Guardian said calmly.

"Wait a minute." The Doctor shook his head. "That's impossible. He's dead. I was there. I saw him die."

"Not hardly, Doctor." The Black Guardian smiled indulgently. "He was merely dormant. A small experiment I tried a while ago, before I decided he was getting out of control. I had to put him on ice for a while, so to speak. Until my previous butler became too nosy for his own good and had, shall we say, a little accident. I needed a new butler, and my friend here just happened to need a new line of work."

"But isn't that..." The Doctor looked skeptical. And for good reason. He'd seen the man be shot and killed by an agent of Her Majesty's Secret Service.

"May I introduce my own private butler, Doctor? Meet Sir Egbert Egbertson, forty-first in line for the royal throne. Formally a physician for the staff at Buckingham Palace. Otherwise known to you, as '_Jack the Ripper_.'


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"Egbert? Seriously? Jack the Ripper's real name is Egbert?" The Doctor said incredulously, his surprised eyes regarding the butler standing there in his well-tailored black frock coat.

"One of many secrets kept from the public, yes." The Black guardian conceded.

"Well, I suppose _Egbert-the Ripper_ wouldn't sound terribly menacing in the newspaper headlines, would it?" He asked the butler.

"No, it would not indeed, sir. Jack is my middle name. Short for Jackson." Said the butler in his upper class diction. He set his tray down on a nearby table and went around the room turning up the gas lamps on the walls, and the electric stained glass Tiffany lamp on the desk. He also added more coal to the fireplace. A fire sprang up, burning brightly, to add some warmth to the chilly room.

The Black Guardian snapped his fingers. Jack the Butler came forward. He gave a slight, stiff-necked bow to the Doctor. "Would you care for a drink, Doctor?"

"Yes, thank you." The Doctor said. He took up a glass whiskey after the butler set the tray down on the table and poured it. "What I would care for is an explanation." He turned to the Black Guardian. "You said 'experiment.' What sort of experiment?"

"You'll find out all in good time, Doctor." The Black Guardian said softly. "I think you will find that this house holds many surprises."

"How 'bout I take the self-guided tour?" The Doctor asked, throwing the contents of his glass into the fire.

Flames exploded upwards and outwards from the fireplace.

Unluckily for the Doctor, he found a pistol aimed at his chest before he could even turn to race for the door. The butler's arm was reaching out, pointing a tiny derringer pistol with a steady, unwavering hand. The gun was small, but the bullets were big enough to stop his hearts from beating. Neither the Black Guardian or Jack the Butler seemed to react to the fire with fear or surprise. Which the Doctor found rather disappointing. In fact, he felt rather sheepish when they both began to laugh at him.

"Oh dear, or dear. You will play your little pranks, won't you, Doctor?" Jack the Butler sneered, looking for approval for his remarks from his master, like a faithful lap dog.

"Why don't we dispense with the formalities, for once, Doctor. Let me show you why all those Londoner's have been disappearing, of late."

The Black Guardian walked to the bookcase and opened the secret panel again. The Doctor could see now that there was a dark and narrow staircase, from which a torch on the wall cast eerie, flickering shadows. Since they were already on the ground floor, the stairs obviously lead down to the building's basement, or perhaps to a secret underground passage.

"This way, Doctor." The Black Guardian said, stepping through the wall.

His intense curiosity overriding his sense of danger, the Doctor followed.

In the gloom of London's alleys, Amy was getting very cross with Rory. She was wet, smelly, dirty, cold, and her feet hurt from walking in soggy shoes. As soon as they left the vicinity of London Bridge, the fog had thinned out and then vanished altogether. Though very worried about the Doctor, all Amy could really think about was getting back to the TARDIS for a hot bath and a change of clothing. Only, Rory couldn't quite remember where the Doctor had parked it.

"Come on, Rory! How hard can it be?" She whinged.

"Look, Amy," an exasperated Rory said, throwing his arms in the air, "this isn't easy, you know. This is London before our grandparents were born. Between the bombing during the war and all the re-building since then, I don't always blinking know where the hell I am. Some of these streets don't even exist any longer!" He whinged back at her. "It's not like we're in some car park at the shopping mall, with signs on the lamp posts to tell you what section you've parked in."

"You mean, the section markers you never remember to look at? Like that Christmas eve we were stuck at the mall for almost an hour, trying to figure out where you parked your car." She jibbed. "But Rory,_ this_ London does have street signs. And, a lot of the big landmarks are still around in our time." Amy retorted, unwilling to admit that Rory had actually scored a valid point. "Try to think! There must have been something about the area that you remember."

Rory stopped so abruptly, that Amy, walking close behind him, nearly smashed her nose between his shoulder blades.

"Rory!"

"I _do_ remember something!" He exclaimed. "There was this shop on the street near the alley. It had dresses in the window."

"Oh, that's a big help." Amy shook her head negatively. "Rory. Do you have any idea how many dress shops there must be in London? Especially in the early nineteen-hundreds. No female trousers yet. Every single woman wore a dress. I mean, wears a dress." She rolled her eyes, "God, time travel can really screw up your grammar, sometimes."

"Yeah I suppose," Rory shrugged, "but how many of those shops sell posh wedding gowns?"

Being careful not to appear near any policemen, Rory asked the few passersby he met on the street about the shop. They'd raised their eyebrows at him, for asking about a bridal shop at that time of night.

Yet, it finally paid off. Forty-five minutes later, they'd found the shop they were looking for. A few steps further along, and there was the alley where the Doctor had left his TARDIS. Only, the ship was being guarded by two of the Black Guardian's armed men.

The pair of them crept along the side of the building on the other side of the street.. When they spotted someone, they were forced to duck into the shadows. Sheltering in a shop doorway directly opposite the alley, they could clearly see the outline of the TARDIS.

There was a man in a cloth cap leaning against the corner of the building next to the alley's entrance. He was shabbily dressed in an old tweed suit. Leaning on the wall close to his hand was a big club with what might be a railroad spike driven through it. Then, they spotted movement near the TARDIS. Though it was quite dark, a match suddenly flared up. Another man was standing in front of the TARDIS doors. He was occupied with lighting a cigar. Though the brim of his derby hid the man's face, the match-light glinted on something metallic. Cradled in his arms was what appeared to be a sawed-off shotgun.

"Now what do we do?" Rory asked.

"I'll distract the thug with the club, while you take care of Shotgun McGee down there." Amy suggested.

Rory rubbed his hand over his forehead worriedly. "Uh-huh. And how do you propose I do that, Amy? I mean, without getting my head blown off...or other body parts.?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something." Amy said reassuringly, patting his arm.

"Erm-?" Was all Rory could think of to say.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

From the gloom he'd encountered while descending the rickety staircase under the Black Guardian's Georgian home, the Doctor expected to find himself in a dimly lit, cobwebby cellar. Or, perhaps some dank, mouldery underground tunnel. Instead, he blinked his eyes. They adjusted quickly from the light of a few sputtering torches, to a line of fluorescent bulbs crossing the ceiling. When Jack the Butler pushed open a heavy a door at the bottom of the stairs, the Doctor had walked through and found himself inside a futuristic science lab.

Its spotless white walls nearly blinded one after the dark passageway. There were two long rows of lab tables. These were chock-a-block full of Bunsen burners, tubing, glass vats full of coloured liquids, and various other apparatuses. The science geek in the Doctor might have marvelled at the sight. Except for one other detail. Along a wall at the back of the room were row upon row of red plastic, Perspex fronted cubicles looking like upright coffins.

It was what was inside those red cubicles that made the Doctor's eyes narrow dangerously. They were full of humans. The people's states of dress came from the Elizabethan era on the far left, to the seventeenth and eighteenth century in the middle, ending with men and women kitted out in Victorian and early twentieth century style clothing. All told, the Doctor reckoned there were at least several dozen humans.

Each of them seemed to be in a state of suspended animation. All were covered with a thin rime of frost. They had tubes full of liquid running from their heads into a vat at the top of each cubicle. But, it was the looks on the captive's frozen faces which made the Doctor ball his fists in anger. Each face had its eyes wide open in a look of pure terror.

"What have you done?" He turned and growled at the Black Guardian.

"I needed to lure you to me, Doctor. And like a sweet innocent lamb to the slaughter, you followed." The Black Guardian sneered. "Unfortunately, I knew your TARDIS was, shall we say, a bit erratic? It might take hundreds of years for your ship to get you here. At exactly the right while away the time I decided to amuse myself in with a little extracurriular activity. Experimenting on humans. Such a nasty little species. They're not much more than sentient parasites, if you ask me."

"What. Did. You. Do?" The Doctor repeated through gritted teeth. He knew that using innocent people to get to him, was the one thing that could really push his emotional buttons.

"It's very simple, really." The Black Guardian shrugged. "I've distilled all the negative emotions, while removing the positive one's. I wanted to see what these humans would be like without paltry emotions such as love or caring to get in their way. Oh, I had my failures, of course. Jack here was my first real success. Weren't you, dear boy?" He smiled at Jack.

"Yes, sir." The butler smiled back and bowed to his master. "And if you don't mind me saying so sir, I enjoyed every minute of it."

"Unfortunately, an agent of Her Majesty's Secret Service shot Jack here, before I could withdraw him from the experiment. I saw you there. The noble Doctor, ready to jump in and save Jack the Ripper. I could have taken you then. But, decided to let you go. The time wasn't right. I had a barge nearby and managed to retrieve the body for recyling. I did well repurposing Jack as my butler, did I not?

"What's this all got to do with me?" A deep, dark suspicion was beginning to niggle away at the back of the Doctor's brain.

"Things have changed, Doctor. You are now here in exactly the right time and the right place. I am about to embark on a breeding programme, which will eventually wipe out the entire human race. By their own hands, I might add." The Black Guardian gloated, rubbing his hands in anticipation. "Such a deliciously mean, petty and violent species! But, they lack one last thing. One thing which will push them over the brink of self-destruction."

"You know, something about all this sounds tediously familiar." The Doctor said, thinking out loud and pacing shortly up and down. "Wait...let me put my thinking cap on...that was my fez, by the way. It got disintegrated by a...friend. Dunno' why. Fez's are very cool." He stopped. Whistling his surprise, the Doctor nodded to himself.

Turning to look at the Black Guardian the Doctor shot him a sly grin, "Ah, I've got it now! I think I've just closed the book on one of Galifrey's oldest cold case files. There was an ancient Time Lord. Called Diabolica. He'd tried something very much like what you are doing. On a planet called Matar. He performed a very similar experiment. Tried to reduce an entire level twenty-one civilization into baseless animals. It was believed that he had some help from one of the immortals, but no one could ever prove anything. Diabolica never got around to making a confession."

"And why is that, I wonder?" The Black Guardian said. Yet, the tone of his voice said he probably already knew.

"His accomplice made sure of Diabolica's silence." The Doctor said levelly, going eye to eye with the Black Guardian. "Before he could go on trial, he died. All thirteen lives regenerating at once, dying over and over again in the space of a few minutes, until he could regenerate no more."

"How very sad. A terrible way to go, I'm sure." The Black Guardian said with mock sorrow.

The Doctor looked down at his toes, cleared his throat. "Bit of an embarrassing way to go, I'm afraid. Premature regeneration. Our biotechnicians later developed a drug to help with that little...er—problem. They also came up with a way to enhance the length of your regeneration, and then everyone on the planet started getting flooded with spam messages every five seconds..." He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Diabolica would have been perfect for my plans here on Earth. What a pity I had to kill him." The Black guardian shrugged. Now though, I have you. The perfect distillation for the downfall of humankind is inside your own mind, Doctor. Inside your head is a boiling cauldron of emotion, just waiting to be set free. The power and rage of a Time Lord!"

Instead of showing that rage, the Doctor instead sprang up on to the edge of one of the lab tables. He was sat there taking deep breaths to calm himself. With his long legs dangling, the Doctor steepled his fingers together and closed his eyes. "Ooom-ooom..." He chanted.

Folding his arms, the Black Guardian regarded the Doctor with amused eyes. His expression was that of patient parent indulging a difficult child. "I have all day, Doctor. I've waited hundreds of years."

In answer, the Doctor shut his eyes tighter and deftly switched from his chant to a soft, lilting Venusian lullaby. "Ooom, ta-roon, ta-roon, la-soom, la-soom, ta-roon..."

"Perhaps you need a little more persuasion." The Black Guardian said, deciding to change tactics.

Turning his back on the Doctor's antics, he moved his arms to form a large square pattern with his fingers. There suddenly appeared a video screen in the middle of the room. Slowly coming into focus on that screen, was the TARDIS. Ignoring it, the Doctor crossed his legs, folded his arms and began to snore.

"I can, if I so choose, move your TARDIS to any part of the universe I wish. Any time, any place." He brushed thin air with his fingers. "Such as this, perhaps?"

All at once, the scene changed. It was a supermarket in the early twenty-first century. A light rain was falling. Just coming out of the doors of the building were a woman and a man. The man was pushing a shopping trolley, the woman was busy putting her wallet in her purse. It was Donna and her husband. Though no words could be heard, they seemed to be chatting with each other, smiling, not a care in the world.

The Black Guardian moved his finger once more. The scene went back to that of the TARDIS standing in the alley where the Doctor had left it. There was a man with a shotgun in front of the doors. The light on top of the ship began to flash. Slowly, the ship began to de-materialize. The Doctor saw the man's clothing being whipped up by a sudden wind, as he whirled around to stare in disbelief. The man staggered back and dropped his gun. They saw the bright red explosion from its twin muzzles light up one wall of the alley.

All the while, the Doctor watched through half-closed eyelids. With growing alarm, he saw the TARDIS gradually disappear from view. A flick of the immortal's finger, and the scene switched back to Donna and her husband. The couple had paused under the supermarket's overhead awning. They were looking at the wet car park. The light rain was slanting down, driven nearly sideways by a brisk wind. It dripped from cars and loose trolleys and lamp posts. The Black Guardian gently coughed into his hand, and the picture focused closer on the pair. He cleared his throat. Suddenly, there was an audio link, as well.

"Show off." The Doctor grumbled under his breath.

"Look! What did I say? I told you it was gonna' rain." Donna said crossly, gesturing unnecessarily at the low gray clouds overhead. "You had to go and park the car way at the other end, didn't you?"

"Sweetheart, it's only a little mist. It's not like it's teaming down or anything." He tried to reason with her.

"A little mist? What are you, Scottish? It is _not_ mist. If it's wet, and it's falling from the sky, it's _rain." _She countered_. _

"I don't know why you're fussing about rain. Honey, we're English. Getting rained on is part of our culture. Besides, it won't hurt you. It's not like it's corrosive acid."

"I just had my hair done." She asserted, as if this answered everything.

"Oh. Right. Yeah." He nodded, completely in the dark as to why his wife had abruptly switched the conversational topic to hair, but deciding humouring her was now his best option.

Out of nowhere, quietly at first, then gaining in crescendo, was the wheezing, grinding noise of the TARDIS. It slowly began to materialize beside a people carrier parked in a nearby handicapped spot. Gazing at it, Donna's face became more and more baffled looking. Then, she seemed to recognize the sound. As she did, Donna cried out and clutched her head. She slowly slumped to the ground, as her eyes began to glow with a golden fire.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Rory! Don't be such a wuss!" Amy admonished. "Look, I'll distract the thug with the club," she explained, referring to the man in the alleyway, who was pacing back and forth thumping a thick rosewood baton into the palm of his hand, "while you sneak up on the bloke with the shotgun."

They were still hovering in the dark, shadowy doorway of a shop across the street from the alley where the Doctor had left his TARDIS. Amy was thankful there were no street lamps nearby to reveal their presence.

"Yeah, Amy. Lotsa' luck with that!' He snorted skeptically, "And how would you suggest I go about it? I mean, without getting blown in half?"

"Very carefully." Amy quipped, reaching up to peck her husband on the cheek. "Cos' if you get yourself killed, I'll never forgive you."

Sighing with defeat, Rory rolled his eyes and nodded his head. He slowly worked his way towards the TARDIS, holding tight against the wall quietly keeping his back glued to the dark places. The Doctor's ship was fairly close to the entrance of the alley, and for that Rory was very grateful.

Rory was so close to the guard standing in front of the doors, that he could smell the sour stench of the man's unwashed body. So far, the guard had not moved from his position. He was facing forward and slightly to his right. Staring at a torn, stained poster pasted to the wall. It was of a scantily clad showgirl doing a high leg kick, teasingly revealing a bit more than just her ankle. An old advert for a vaudeville show at a nearby theater. The guard remembered that girl's act. He didn't remember seeing quite so much leg, though. Didn't get his money's worth that night, the man thought begrudgingly. Might as well have bought the poster.

Grateful for the lack of light and the guards' diverted attention, Rory slowly inched his way towards the mans' unprotected back. Without warning, he was caught in a sudden flash of white light. It was the lamp on the roof of the TARDIS. It had begun to flash and a faint wheezing, grinding noise was heard, as if from far inside the bowels of the blue box.

"Hi there, handsome!" Amy said in what she hoped was a sexy voice. She walked brazenly up to the other man guarding the entrance to the alley.

In reality the man was as far from handsome, as a roller skate is from a Rolls Royce. He had a coarse, fleshy, dull-looking face, bushy eyebrows that went on forever, and the bulbous red, big veined nose of a heavy drinker.

"What's a nice looking bloke like you doing out all alone on a night like this?" She asked, showing him a bit of leg and batting her eyes at him.

"Get lost, ginger." He growled at her, sniffling and then wiping his dribbly nose on his sleeve. "I h'ain't buyin' wot yer sellin' tonight."

"Maybe I'm not selling anything," Amy said, inwardly cringing and thankful that her mum wasn't here to witness this. Or Rory. "Maybe," She gave him her most beguiling smile, "tonight it's free." She glanced down at his club. "Is it true what they say? That a man always chooses a weapon that reflects the size of his..er—" She glanced down meaningfully at the thug's crotch.

"The size of me club don't matter none, ginger. It's how I use it." The obtuse guard answered, brandishing the heavy stick. "Me ol' friend here has banged its fair share of smart arses in its time."

"Ah. So you're into a little back door action, then?" Amy quipped back at him, raising an eyebrow.

Before the thug could answer, there came a bright light flashing from within the alley. Amy knew what that meant. The thug turned to look, as she heard Rory call out.

"Amy! Come on!" Came his voice from the alley.

Not needing to be told twice, Amy sprinted for the TARDIS.

"'Ere! Wait! You can't go down there!" The thug shouted, turning to lumber after her.

As she approached the slowly de-materializing TARDIS at a run, Amy saw the other guard step back in surprise and drop his sawed-off shotgun. With an orange flash and a deafening bang from its twin muzzles, it went off.

Amy screamed. "Rory!"

In the future, in the rainy supermarket car park, Donna's husband was kneeling on the wet tarmac. He was holding Donna's head in his lap. She was having some sort of fit. Donna had grabbed hold of the shopping trolley, but it did no good. Clutching her head she'd sunk to the floor.

In an empty space next to a people carrier, a sudden wind whipped up loose rubbish and dead leaves, sending them skittering away. The odd, mechanical wheezing noise was getting louder.

"Someone call 999!" He shouted at a handful of people coming out the doors of the supermarket. "Get an ambulance!"

Inside the basement of the Black Guardian's elegant Georgian home the Doctor was forced to stand by, watching helplessly. Jack the Butler had a pistol pointed just inches from the Doctor's brain. Unable to help, the Doctor could only stand there and watch as his friend began to die. Consumed by all the power of a Time Lord, which was fostered upon Donna during a biological metacrisis inside the dying TARDIS. The power was normally dormant, absent from her memories. Until something triggered recollection. Something like hearing and seeing the TARDIS again. Then, the Time Lord in her awakened and began to slowly burn her mind.

"You can save her Doctor." The Black Guardian leaned over and purred softly in the Doctor's ear, "All you have to do is step into the cubicle and let us siphon off your emotions. I promise it won't hurt. Much."

"One of your promises has about as much sincerity behind it as a politican's. Knowing you, you're probably a tory." The Doctor spat out angrily. "You won't let Donna live. And we both know that with my emotions gone, it'll no longer matter to me whether she's alive or not."

The Black Guardian shifted back. Folding his arms he looked down his nose, glaring daggers of pure hate, saying, "I'm growing impatient, Doctor"

"And I'm growing bougainvillea in the TARDIS loo." The Doctor answered flippantly. "But don't expect me to send you any flowers on your birthday."

The Black Guardian knew that the Doctor would allow himself to be killed, before he'd willing submit to being placed inside the cubicle and having all of his emotions, all his knowledge and memories, drained from him. Unless it was to save the lives of his friends.

"Then watch Donna Noble die, before Jack here puts an end to your existence. Never to regenerate again"

There was a click near the back of his head, as Jack cocked the revolver.

They had just made it. Squeezing past the guard and grabbing hold of the door mere seconds before the ship had begun to de-materialize. It had been a narrow escape. Amy and Rory panted with their exertions, leaning against the safety rail trying to catch their breaths.

"Wait." Rory said, looking around the empty control room. "Where's the Doctor? How can the ship be flying by itself?"

"Herself." Amy corrected him. "_It_ is a '_she_', remember?"

The two of them walked up to the console. The overhead monitor screen flickered on. It showed a modern car park. They both remarked that the colour inside the glass of the central column seemed strange—it was giving off a strange amethyst glow. The noise the ship made also seemed somehow off-kilter, the groaning noise being far louder and rougher than normal. As if the ship was moving under protest.

"Is that a Sainsbury's?" An incredulous Rory asked, staring at the monitor screen.

"Oh. That reminds me. We're out of milk in the TARDIS fridge." Amy said.

"Yeah. That'll be the first thing I'll tick off on my to do list today." Rory replied dryly. "Get milk. Beat Black Guardian. Save the world."

"What are you on about milk for? We have to find the Doctor!" Amy scolded him.

"Erm...?" Rory shrugged, deciding to let that one go for now. "And how do you propose we do that, Amy?"

Without answering him, Amy leaned over the TARDIS console. She petted it the way she'd seen the Doctor do, countless times before.

"Where's the Doctor, eh? I bet you know where he is, don't you, sweetheart? I think he's in trouble. You've _got_ to find the Doctor." She coaxed the ship gently. "He loves you. He needs you. You're his best friend. His home. Please. Do it for him, girl. Go find the Doctor!"

"Amy! It's a time machine, not Lassie." Rory said skeptically, watching from over her shoulder.

In answer, the sound of the central column suddenly changed. The colour inside gradually went back its normal blue-green tint. On the monitor overhead, the scene changed. The image of the car park faded away as the ship changed course.

The rain had eased off somewhat when Donna regained consciousness. In the distance, an ambulance siren wailed. Blinking the rain out of her eyes, she struggled to sit up. Strangers stood grouped over her. Some looked like human vultures, eager to snap up any bit of vicarious excitement in their otherwise mundane lives. Others in the crowd appeared to be genuinely concerned.

"Wha—? What happened?" She mumbled as her husband helped her sit upright. Then she realized she was sitting on the rain-covered tarmac. "Oh. That's just brilliant. My bum's all wet. Now people are gonna' think I'm incontinent."

"Are you alright, Donna?" Her husband said. "Maybe you should lie there for a while. At least until emergency services get here. You had some kind of fit."

"Oh, stop fussing! Just a headache, that's all. Pop back into the store for a box of migraine tablets, will you? I'll be OK." Donna said, insisting on standing up. She was still feeling a bit wobbly. With a pale, tired expression on her face, she stared at the crowd disapprovingly. "Alright people, shows over. You can all clear off now. I hear they have a two for one offer on brown sauce in aisle four."

Leaving her leaning against their shopping trolley, he went and got the car for her.

"I really do think you should have someone check you over, sweetheart." he said, as he got out of the shiny new Mercedes. "It's like...I dunno'. Your eyes seemed to be glowing. It was...strange."

"You'll see fire in my eyes, if you don't hurry back with those pills!" Donna responded, as he helped her into their car. "Think I'll have a lie down when we get home. You'll have to have your tea down to the Swan tonight."

"Oh, aye." He nodded agreeably, "That's alright, love. I don't mind. They've got a nice cheese & pickle pork pie on Tuesdays."

As he shut the door, he heard her reply, "Oi! Any more of that kind of talk, and you'll also have to buy me some Pepto-Bismol!"

The Doctor was inside the cubicle. He knew he could not stand there and watch Donna suffer. Following the Black Guardian's instructions, Jack had hooked the Doctor's head up into a wide, shiny metal circlet, looking sort of like a crown. It dropped down from the top of the cubicle to encircle the Doctor's head. Wires and tubing came out from the device and plugged into the sides of the wall.

Smiling with satisfaction, the Black Guardian flipped a switch of a machine sitting on a nearby table. Coloured liquids began to flow into the tubes connecting the Doctor's brain. Within seconds he began to writhe in pain. Finally, when he could stand no more, he gave a terrible scream.

Without warning, the TARDIS began to materialize inside the basement laboratory. Both the Black Guardian and Jack turned, startled, to stare at the ship as it came to rest with a final thump, in between two lab tables. The door opened. Rory and Amy came out, cautiously looking around.

At the same time, the Black Guardian's machine gave out in a shower of smoke and sparks. At the same time, the Black Guardian clutched his head, moaning.

"What have you done, Doctor?" He cried out. Though already his voice was fading, as his body slowly dissolved into thin air. "You've not heard the last of me!" Were the last words he spoke.

"Doctor!" Rory shouted, running over to unhook the Doctor from the machine.

He and Amy held up the Doctor as he slumped forward. His face was pale and slick with perspiration.

"Are you alright?" Rory asked, as he helped him on to a nearby lab stool.

"I'll...I'll be fine in a moment, Rory. No worries." The Doctor smiled.

"What did you just do?" Amy asked, "Where did the Black Guardian go?"

"Simple! Well, not simple, sort of more...simple-ish, I suppose." The Doctor explained, "I reversed the electrical impulses in my brain cells, which were being fed into the binary neuron converter of the Black Guardian's machine. Before you ask, it's a device which distills the positive and negative emotions from the brain. By mentally reversing the polarity of the machine's neutron flow, I sent a major ionic feedback into the circuits, which shorted out all of its systems. Because part of the Black Guardian's mind had to be connected to the machine in order to make it function, it directly interfered with the electrical impulses in this brain cell membranes."

"You mean you killed him?" Amy asked, searching her jeans pocket for a tissue to wipe the Doctor's face with.

Amy and Rory had both taken time for a fast change into some dry clothing and a token hair brushing, before they'd landed. But she quickly regretted not being able to bathe, as she caught the Doctor wrinkling his nose at the combination sewer-river smell coming from her unwashed body.

"You can't kill an immortal, Amy." The Doctor said, with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh. Right." She nodded frowning at him. "I forgot, OK? It's not exactly like I meet immortal beings every day, you know. What did you do to him, then?"

"Basically, I gave him one helluva' migraine. He's gone back to his own dimension for a lie down, I suspect."

"I'm going to kill you, Doctor." Came Jack's voice. The Doctor winced. He'd forgotten about Jack the Butler. "But first I'm going to kill your friends."

"Hullo Jack, old bean." The Doctor said, quietly sliding off the stool and facing the gunman. "Aren't you tired of killing by now? I mean, I'm all for having a hobby, but don't you crave a change, now and again?"

"Who's that?" Rory asked.

"Rory. Amy. Meet Jack the Ripper." The Doctor said, moving about to distract Jack from taking pot shots at his friends. But not once taking his eyes off the man. He would not let any more of his companions get hurt today.

"I mean, Egbert the Ripper. Now known as Jack the Butler. Or, is that Egbert the butler? I suppose I'm being rude, sorry. My manners are terrible these days. Probably spending too much time watching _Jersey Shore_. Talk about damaging your brain cells! But there's this peculiar fascination, watching idiots. Sort of like slowing down to look at a really bad car wreck on the motorway. Can't help yourself. Do you have a preferred form of address, Egbert?"

Instead of answering, the butler took aim at Rory. Suddenly, the basement door flew open.

"Police! Scotland Yard! Stay where you are!" Came an authoritative shout.

A horde of policemen and inspectors went bursting into the room. Jack turned and fired at them. As the TARDIS door closed, there was a flurry of shots. Then, silence.

"Well, I don't know about you boys, but I'm claiming first dibs on the Jaccuzi." Amy told them.

"The TARDIS doesn't have one of those, Amy." Rory sighed. "Wish it did."

"Oh, but it will do." Amy answered. She added meaningfully, "Won't it, Doctor?"

"Erm...if it will get your smell out of my control room, anything you want." The Doctor said with a casual shrug. He was already busy putting in the coordinates for their next adventure. The Doctor was left stunned, seconds later. Looking after Amy with a shocked, puzzled frown, after she'd slapped his face and stormed off.

"What'd I do now?" He cried indignantly to Rory.

Rory only threw his head back and laughed. "I'm going to join Amy in the Jacuzzi. Coming?"

THE END


End file.
